


The Scientist

by Ilovehighhats



Series: Constellations [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, F/M, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Nolanverse, Power Play, Sexytimes, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-08-24 04:52:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 91,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8358049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilovehighhats/pseuds/Ilovehighhats
Summary: If you want to have an unique library you have to get someone to make the books truly outstanding.Sometimes, the right person just falls into your hands.Sometimes, it turns out, you fall right into theirs.





	1. Ides of March

**Author's Note:**

> This story is my personal challenge. Something I will finish in a given time frame. I don't think is particularly insightful, there are a lot of better written and more interesting ones here and on FF.net, but thats beside the point. It's something I came up with and decided I will, for once, complete. A kind of silly tale I like to read myself, especially on cold autumn evenings.
> 
> The ending is already written, most of the content in between as well. I have set a date, when everything will be published - regardless of my satisfaction with the end result. This story is being polished, because I want it to be the best I can dish out to you. 
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy reading, as much as I enjoy writing it. :)

Helena wanted to get away from the forest as soon as possible.  
  
Solitary retreat in a lake house sounded like a good idea, at least at first. A week of peace and quiet, without Internet. So, no nagging friends nor family, no distractions - only books, hobbies, good food and picturesque views.  
  
Paradise.  
  
In theory.  
  
After two days, Helena couldn't wait to be back in her city apartment, still alone but not as isolated like back in the cottage. While visiting it before she had always had company, so there wasn't anything to prepare her for the paranoia of unfamiliar sounds, unidentified movements seen out of the corner of her eye, and general uncertainty of what would happen next.  
  
There were times she just couldn’t handle life. Not as in wanting to die, but in a way that had made her cringe and tense up every time she had to fulfil yet another mundane repetitive obligation. Dress. Answer the phone. Eat. Smile. Talk with people.  
  
This was one of those days. No will to actually accomplish anything, no real tasks to do, but overall an overwhelming mountain of stress rolling on her shoulders, gradually wearing her down. The apprehension of jumping on every unusual sound made her decision easy.  
  
So, she packed back everything she came with, turned off water and electricity, stored food that could spoil in the car’s cooler, and set back home in the jeep her sister had lent her along with the cabin.  
  
It was for the best, anyway.  
  
She rode without music on, since radio reception was patchy at best. The road stretched through acres of woods, sneaking down and turning frequently. Driving was calming, especially now in spring, when the Sun warmed somewhat icy breeze coming down the mountains.  
  
Mind wandering idly, she passed turns automatically.  
  
Unamused smile graced her features, as she remembered how her supposed “iciness” was held against her during her time with her husband. Recent divorce still hadn’t quite settled in her awareness, the bitterness of a split up still echoing with a bad taste in her mouth every time she remembered it. Letting herself immerse in her thoughts alone in the cabin was, as it turned out, the worst course of action she could take.  
  
The car climbed a particularly high hill, slowly emerging on top. Helena almost stopped, blinded by horizontal rays of setting Sun. There appeared to be a blockage ahead. She leaned in, squinting, trying to decipher what exactly was happening further on the road.  
  
Two SUVs flanked a sedan, with four bikers scattered around.  
  
Was it some kind of movie being shot? It looked that way… Or maybe, customs officers set up to catch a smuggler?  
  
As she watched, men from SUVs jumped out towards the sedan, while bikers pulled out what she knew were guns. You don't hold a camera like that.  
  
Plus, shots were fired.  
  
Oh shit!, she thought, frantically setting the gear to reverse. Without looking at the scene below started speeding back down to the other side of the hill.

If it was a movie, everything would be fine. It probably was just another spy flick, shot in the mountains to amplify feeling of isolation and hopelessness.  
  
She heard revving of the bikes behind. Quick glance in the rear-view mirror confirmed - she was being chased by four guys who possibly just killed someone. Almost involuntarily she floored the gas pedal. The road was familiar, so she knew where she could safely speed and which turns were dangerous.  
  
Nonetheless, the bikes were slowly gaining on her.  
  
The absurdity of her situation hit her hard. Is this a fucking James Bond movie? _,_  she thought just as a bullet impacted on the tree on her left. Using every bit of her meagre expertise behind the wheel, she double clutched every turn and desperately tried to outrun her fate.  
  
They started shooting at her more frequently, shattering side windows and cracking the front. That slowed her right down. They caught up.  
  
She killed the engine, defeated.  
  
One man pointed his gun through the shattered window and the other roughly manhandled her out of the car. Two other bikers waited at the back, one a hulking mass of muscle, brought out even more by canvas jacket hugging his form. He barked out some orders to the guy holding her, his voice oddly mechanical.  
  
The fact that she didn't know the language spooked her even more than the situation itself.  
  
She was pressed to the jeep, hands planted roughly on cold bonnet, legs kicked apart. The biker patted her none too gently, obviously looking for any weapons she might conceal about her. Meanwhile, the Big Guy lazily unmounted, strolled over to the other side of the vehicle. Helped by both other men, they started to go through her things, commenting between themselves.  
  
Helena observed, silent and helpless, as the leader zeroed in on the wooden box she left on the backseat. Her eyes never left his hands, as his fingers inspected the object with surprising dexterity. He opened it, sliding off the material securing the contents and took her life's work out from its safe box.  
His helmet shot up, as in that moment he must have looked straight at her. He barked another order, which made her guard immediately yank her around the car, closer to the boss. Her jaw tightened, when he thumbed up the cover and shuffled through the book in his hands.  
  
Again, he barked some words, and she realized it was at her. His helmet turned again towards her, he must have discovered her incomprehension.  
  
“Do you speak English?”  
  
His accent was difficult to place, but the pronunciation was very exact, worthy of a thespian. It startled her.  
  
“I do.”  
  
“Where did you get this book from?”  
  
“I've made it myself.”  
  
Nodding after another careful stare, he put the book back into the box. He closed it, just as the SUVs pulled over behind them. Looking to the side, the man issued another order in previously used exotic language, and before she realized what was happening Helena was hoisted up by the guy holding her and put into one of the SUVs.  
  
She didn’t feel the punch that knocked her out.

 

oOo

 

She came to with a start. Her head hurt. A lot.  
  
What the hell?!  
  
Gingerly, she tried inspecting her skull while looking around. She was in some kind of a cargo hold, hands tied in front of her with cable tie, legs taped together with duct tape, rope bound around her back and shoulders, anchoring her to the metal flooring. On her left there were two familiar SUVs, on her right some kind of pallet, obscuring her view. The floor was vibrating and from the outside she could hear roaring of an engine.  
  
An airplane.  
  
Eyes widening, she shifted up, crouched on her knees.

What. The. Hell.  
  
Her chest felt like someone put a heavy weight on top, choking her. She started hyperventilating. There was no way this was happening. She broke in cold sweat. Her fingers started to tingle uncomfortably.  
  
This can not happen to me, she chanted in her head, as if the perception of the situation could change it.  
  
She started panicking, shaking, fidgeting restlessly with her hands. There was nowhere to run. There were enemies, men with weapons, probably just a few meters away. There was nothing she could do.  
  
Nothing to control, except myself, she thought.  
  
By sheer force of will she made herself calm down a notch.  
  
You have to be calm and collected during a crisis; hysteria can come later, when it’s safe.  
  
She sat, back to the pallet, hands on her belly. Started counting her breaths, just like during meditation. First minute, sixteen breaths. Second minute, fourteen. Again, fourteen. She focused on getting back below ten breaths per minute, fixated her eyes on the watch on her left wrist. The air tasted somewhat chemical, acrid aroma of fuel mixed in it with metallic notes.  
  
Focusing on her breathing, she missed heavy thuds of military grade boots coming closer from behind the pallet.  
  
Her slowing heartbeat picked up again, as the Big Guy crouched before her. Her hands shot up to stop him.  
  
“Don't,“ she forced herself to draw next breath slowly. “I'm having a panic attack.”  
  
He cocked his head to the side, observing her curiously, clinically almost. She went back to counting, anger strangely helping her collect herself. Maybe her body couldn't produce any more adrenaline. The pressure on her chest was still there, but her head cleared a bit.  
  
She looked back up at the man, noting details of his appearance. He could have been some kind of soldier or mercenary, with his paramilitary getup, complete with bulletproof vest peeking out from behind his jacket. What gave her pause was the contraption on his face, clearly visible from behind the tan keffiyeh on his jaw. This is where the synthesizer for his voice must have been. Metallic grille of tubes resembled a steampunk spider attached to his face. It was hideous, but at the same time fascinating in its intricate design.  
  
She looked the man in the eye, wishing to be back to her usual self. There was nothing to control here but her mind. So she would stay calm and collected.  
  
At least on the outside.  
  
“We'll be landing soon. Prepare yourself.“  
  
She sneered, earning a warning glance. “I'll go pack my things then.”  
  
He didn't gratify that with an answer, walked away unhurriedly. She looked about again, trying to decipher which way was front of the aircraft, to find best place to brace herself for the impact. Finally, she settled on holding onto the pallet, leaning on it with her legs for additional stability.  
  
He came back again when the plane started to tip down for landing.  
  
“Checking up on me? How sweet.”  
  
“I would challenge you to a battle of wits, but I see you are unarmed.” A pause. “Brace now.”  
  
That shocked her for a second, so she almost missed the sudden drop as they flew into an air pocket on their way down.  
  
The landing was a rough affair.  
  
They arrived in the middle of nowhere. Before the plane settled for good, Big Guy manhandled her into the SUV, sat beside, and kept her head sideways down on the seat. She just endured, hoping the drive wouldn't be too long.  
  
An hour in, or what felt like an hour, she shifted a bit trying to lessen the pressure on her crushed arm. The meaty hand was still on top of her head, her lipstick had to be smeared all over her face, and glasses shuffled so that they dug uncomfortably on her temple.

“Stay still.”

She shot him an exasperated look.

“I see how you don't want me seeing the way to you secret lair, handsome. Still, it would be nice to regain feeling in my right hand. How about you blindfold me and let me sit straight? Would that be an acceptable compromise?”

He turned to her, grey eyes intense, leaned in dangerously close. His hand travelled from the top of her head to her neck. Squeezing gently, he squinted his eyes.

“How about you stay still and shut up.”

She licked her dry lips to prepare for an answer, noticed how his gaze involuntarily shifted down. Without saying another word, she used her hips to turn to her back, arms comfortably just above her belly. The hand on her neck tightened, cutting off her air supply for two seconds.

“I've killed people for less before. Don't disobey me again.”

She smiled.

That visibly surprised him a bit. He was clearly used to people fearing him and heeding his every word. But she had an advantage of ignorance in his history, plus he did kidnap her for some reason. Kept her safe during the trip, so obviously he wanted something.

Since she wasn't the most beautiful or voluptuous woman, and since he asked about the book, she suspected he might want to use her talents rather than using her body. Which gave her the courage to try and tease him.

The whole situation was ridiculous. She could be dead, raped and cut to pieces anyway, so at least she could have some fun while she still was relatively unharmed.

“Star Wars fanboy, huh? You can always spank me if choking won't cut it.”

He pulled back, sitting straight.

“Impressive. Most impressive. You have controlled your fear. Now, release your anger. Only your hatred can destroy me.”

His eyes crinkled, hinting at a smile. She gulped, averted her eyes, cheeks colouring with embarrassment. Didn’t expect him to throw a movie reference back at her.

The contraption on his face and distorted voice made it too apt for her situation.

She chose to stay silent for the rest of the trip.

At some point Helena dozed off, lulled to sleep by gentle rocking of the car and the monotonous view of the beige ceiling. When she came to, her legs were propped up on the big guys muscular thighs, unbound. She was marginally more cozy, but still the forced position made her sore all over. She shifted, flexing muscles to ease at least some of the tension.

“We'll be there soon.“

“Sweet,” she sighed. The question where was ‘there’ bounced in her head. “Thank you for straightening my legs. I appreciate that.” It was still damn miserable, but she realized he could have her trussed up like a Sunday roast, if he chose to transport her that way.

“You're welcome,” he nodded and shot her a short, amused look.

“What? Manners don’t cost anything.”

“Indeed they don’t.”

Car stopped a minute later, and the big guy hauled her none too gently out of it, his hand on her back. For a few seconds she was awkwardly sitting on his lap. As soon as her feet touched the ground she looked around curiously. First thing she noticed was his hand, still at her back. He barked something in that exotic language, pushing her forward.

Other SUVs flanked them, men spilling out, dragging along women with a child from one of the vehicles. They were all ushered towards the closest doorway. Before they got in, Helena glanced back, trying to understand layout of the place she was at.

Cars stood almost in the middle of a courtyard, surrounded by walls that looked like medieval battlements. To one side was a standalone building, a church presumably, to the other were two long halls resembling elaborate service pavilions. Over everything stretched a towering silhouette of a mountain.

They were hurdled then to individual cells, and closed there. Helena peeked around. One wall was replaced by jail style bars and door, two others carved from solid stone led to last wall with a tiny window. From the looks of it, it must have been at least half a meter thick. Under the window was a little stool with pitcher of water, beside that - a simple cot. That was it. Corridor outside her cell was occupied by a strolling guard, lazily chatting with a friend somewhere.

Again, the language was unknown to her.

She resigned herself to waiting. There was a reason she was here.

Just what in hell was it?

 

 oOo

 

It got dark. There was a light on the corridor, but it was flimsy and weak, so her eyes got tired. Adrenaline rush ended a while back, and since she had few hours to mull over what happened, she felt drained.

The whole incident was random. She didn't have enough data to understand what could happen next, so she settled for taking care of her most basic needs first.

“Hey!”, she called to the guard as he passed by. He stared at her a little startled. “I need to go to the bathroom.“

No response. He turned and marched away.

She hung her head in defeat, sat back on the mattress. A day of stress had her sticky with sweat and uncomfortable with the state of her bladder. And she was hungry.

Ok, there is nothing to do. Wait. Meditate. Sleep, she feebly tried to persuade herself.

She sat on folded legs on the bed. Some time passed, as she tried to meditate, her consciousness coming and going. At one point she zeroed in her hearing on thud of purposeful steps. They got closer and closer, subconsciously reminding her of someone.

She sat still as it dawned on her there could be only one person here whose stride her ears were remotely accustomed to.

He came to the guards, chatting unhurriedly. She tried to focus on any words that might sound familiar, syntax patterns that could help her unravel where she was. She was almost sure she heard some Russian, but overall was quite sure the main language was different.

She was at a loss.

The conversation died after a few minutes, heavy footfalls resonated away.

Her back relaxed a bit.

She may have acted cool and indifferent while observed by the guards, but once the main lights in the corridor went off and the compound settled for the night, Helena let herself ponder on her situation.

The reality of being kidnapped seemed easy to digest at first. Playful banter came to her naturally, like second skin. Like a mask she could hide behind. Her reactions on the plane were purely hysterical, so she absolved herself instantly of any responsibility and possible outcomes. Being here now, though, put an uncomfortable strain on her chest. A weight constricting her lungs, one she knew intimately from last months of her marriage. It seemed inconsequential at first, but when you noticed it, it grew. Sheer realization of the cause of it, all of the consequences her mind raced to… All of it simultaneously made her want to run away and bury under the covers to just sleep the whole ordeal away.

Speaking of sleep - she couldn’t get any rest. Leftover adrenaline coursed through her for so long, now she couldn’t even settle down. Tired she was, of course. Only, lying on the mattress seemed unwise, somehow. What if someone would come for her? She wanted to be ready, or at least appear that way; she wanted to show them she was a worthy adversary. Even if only psychologically.

Wars were won in minds of the strategists, right?

So she paced away through her first night on the mercenary compound.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, when the air hung in wispy tendrils of fog close to the ground, she heard again thud of measured steps cutting through the monotonous noises of the compound. Closer and closer.

Helena stopped her pacing. Shoulders tensed with anticipation, she waited, shifted down to sit cross legged on her cot.

The emergency light from the corridor dimmed, as broad back blocked it from entering her cell.

“We haven't got a chance at proper introduction,“ he said, threaded his fingers through the bars, dwarfing the entire wall. He didn't seem to mind the darkness, his eyes alert, focused on her. One hand straightened towards her, palm ready for a handshake. “Bane.”

Almost involuntarily, she stood up, legs slowly unfurling from under her buttocks, and strode towards him.

“Helena. I'm a scribe. You?” Her palm was still in his firm grip, along with her other hand hanging limply by, since they were still tied up together.

“Mercenary.” He studied lines on her skin, tracing them with his thumb.

Deciphering his intentions seemed impossible. He obviously wasn't interested in her, yet he wasn't eager to let go. Seemed like he liked power play, or manipulation. Or both.

“Go figure.”

“You are alarmingly insightful.” He must have smiled behind the mask.

Helena couldn't stop her lips from curling up.

“I would like to acquire your services. “

She scoffed. “As it happens it seems I'm rather tied up at the moment.” Fingers of her dangling hand waved at him tellingly.

It was his turn to raise eyebrows. “That can be easily remedied.”

“Oh fantastic.” She twisted her palm, so that it was his paw in loose grip of both her hands. He seemed amused. “I would have you know, I don't endeavour into business negotiations until I'm wholly comfortable with the other party.”

His demeanour changed instantly. “It's a limited time offer.”

“Then how could I refuse?” She gave him her best smile.

Above joined hands both fixed each other with an icy stare.

 


	2. The Waiting Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for leaving kudos, I appreciate it! 
> 
> After posting the first chapter I got a comment on ff.net saying it's "riddled with mistakes and unreadable"... So, I guess I really need a Beta Reader. Heh. Any volunteers? I do try to check the text myself, but even after revisions and rewriting, some stuff do get out a little less polished, than I intend. 
> 
> Trying to combat that! 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this chapter, next one should be out around Sunday next week. Maybe earlier, if I manage to review it at work instead of at home. ;)

The smell of her own body never disturbed her much. Probably because for most of her life she stuck to a regular hygienic regime. But not for all of it, so she knew how to brave few days without a shower. Without brushing her teeth. Without cleaning her hands after brief, very brief visit to the bathroom she was finally granted with. 

It was best not to complain. What would that change anyway?   

The pair abducted with her chose a different path. The child wailed, as the woman sobbed at the guards, pleading for something.   

Release? Food? A shower?   

Helena listened to them, trying to decipher the country they were from. One thing for sure - they weren't her compatriots, which made their kidnapping all the more puzzling to her.   

Then again, the whole situation was absurd.   

Commotion in the corridor grabbed her attention. Without a word, Bane came into her cell and unbound her hands. Massaging tired wrists, she followed him out to the courtyard. One of the mercenaries fetched a bike.   

It was dark, and she was about to get on a motorcycle with a mercenary who kidnapped her on the same day. In a monastery slash castle in the mountains at the end of the world.   

Absurd, absurd, absurd.   

Helena sighed, "Why not a car?"   

"Mobility," he said, sitting on the machine. Put on a helmet handed him by the same guy who brought the bike. "Don't linger," he warned.   

She fought to stay collected, but couldn't suppress her jaw tightening in irritation.   

"I need a jacket."   

She almost shrieked as a man stalked out from behind her, bearing her very own leather jacket with a spare helmet.   

Of course, she thought.   

Without any more excuses to stall, she put on everything, then cautiously approached Bane. Sure, she didn't have a scarf or gloves, but she knew when to appreciate basic civility. There was nothing stopping them from dragging her off the mountain on a rope, or mounted on top of the bike, Mad Max style. So she swallowed all complaints that threatened to spill, determined to be on her best behaviour, to get the best of this situation. Twisted and ridiculous as it was.   

Quick kick of leg had her behind him, clawing on his shoulders. The same mercenary who carried her jacket put on a scarf over her eyes. Squished on a helmet. Three seconds later Bane started the engine, revving the bike so fast she plastered herself to his back without second thought. That left her arms painfully bundled, again. Resigned, she tried wrapping them around his midsection, giggling when it turned out to be nearly impossible to reach around him.   

How ridiculous could one be?   

They rode fast, gravel of the dirt road shooting from under the tires.   

Once they merged to proper tarmac, all the drivers sped noticeably, purr of the machines mixing in an excited cacophony.   

Helena’s head dropped between Bane’s shoulders, his back like a concrete wall before her. Or maybe rather like a furnace, because he gave out an unnatural amount of heat.   

Again, there was nothing for her to do. She couldn't smell anything from behind the blindfold and the helmet, it was pitch black before her eyes. Her front cuddled to a warm man, hands gripping his front were numb from the wind.   

She was so tired. She dozed off.   

Sound of fire shooting in short bursts rudely ripped her out of her reverie. Hulk before her was like an immovable anchor, but it was apparent they've reached their destination.   

Bane shouted something, waited, probably right before the entrance, engine still on. Amazingly, with squeal of hinges and growling from the wooden planes, some gate opened, letting them through. No police sirens wailed in the distance, no armed guards greeted them on the inside.   

Following her companion’s example, Helena removed the helmet, dared even to peek from under the blindfold. Eventually, she slid it down to her neck, when they gestured for her to get off the bike.   

They parked in a massive ancient looking hall, complete with frescos on walls, windows filled with stained glass pictures, sculptures littering the alcoves. It took a while, but out of the shadows appeared a slight man, clad in black religious attire, topped with a pointy cowl. His face hid in shadows, only visible part of his visage was salt and pepper beard.   

Bane engaged him in what seemed to be a heated discussion, leaving Helena to herself. Once again, she trotted after the man in the mask, oblivious to his intentions or destination. Engravings in the plaster caught her eye, letters snaking like vines, twisting into neat rows flourished delicately at the ends.   

She had a pretty good idea where she might be after all.   

Series of corridors thoroughly disoriented her, sometimes changing levels with few steps up and down. Sudden stop startled her, made her bump into Bane's back.   

She really was exhausted.   

He grunted some noncommittal noise, turned, his hand shot up to the back of her neck. Like a puppy, he led her before him, through a pair of carved wooden door, to a darkened room.   

Their guide, a priest, shuffled for a while to the side, snapping light switch after fumbling on for a minute. The old fashioned light bulb turned on with a snap and a hiss.   

The priest hurried to the chest at the far side of the room, leaving Helena to marvel at the abundance of relics littering shelves that stretched along the walls. She took a few steps closer to the table in the middle, admiring an intricately gilded icon.   

Behind it she found a bronze pyx, charming in its simplicity. She marvelled over its elegant form, but forgot it when a shattered monstrance peeked from under the linen loosely covering the treasure on the table.   

Meanwhile, the priest uncovered the treasure of the chest. He produced a tabernaculum the size of a shoebox, opened it with a muted complaint from unused hinges. Out of layers of flax, velvet, silk, and cotton he gingerly produced a manuscript, presenting it to her.   

Just the look of it rendered her speechless. The cover was perfectly preserved, making her hope the insides could be as well. She looked at her hands when he gestured for her to take it, disgusted with the state of them. But there was no way she could resist the temptation of opening the book. When she felt the pressed leather under her fingertips, pleasant weight of it in her hands, she instantly fell in love. No matter what was written inside, it was literally a piece of history. Lovingly crafted, carefully preserved, work of mind thought important enough to immortalize on vellum by hours upon hours of slaving patiently to put it together.   

Delicately, she opened the tome, trying to decipher what exactly could it be.   

Latin.   

"Ari… starco…?" A name, sounding familiar, was written in clear, concise miniscule at the top of the page, along with the title of the book. Something on the Sun and the Moon. She smirked, when she realized an ancient treatise of a heretic was resting in a box dedicated to house the supposed body of a Christian god.   

Sweet, sweet irony.   

"I want you to copy that," Bane said. His mechanical rasp was out of place here, as was his towering form.   

"I don't know if I can make an exact copy," was the only thing she thought to say. Not 'why', not 'what for', nor 'get out'.   

She wanted that book.   

"I only need the text," he took it from her, noting how she held back a whimper of disappointment. "Don't worry about the ornaments."   

"Okay," She said. Back straightened, eyes sparkling with purpose added, "I will do it."   

He nodded, "Excellent." Jovial, hinting at a smile along with crinkles around his eyes. Helena smiled back.   

At that moment she felt like she made a pact with the devil.

 

oOo

 

There was a surprise waiting for her back at the compound. 

The suitcase was an eerily familiar detail in her cell. Everything inside suffered a thorough search, leaving her once orderly clothes a crumpled mess.   

But it was a good thing, forcing her to take action and line up everything back into orderly rows.   

Her hands shook as her garments were folded neatly, one by one. Everything looked okay. Some things were missing from the wash bag, but the makeup case seemed undisturbed.   

She fidgeted for a while, but there was only so much you could do with a suitcase and a finite amount of things to go in it.   

Next half an hour was spent debating whether to change clothes for the night. She could smell herself easily, sweat with some vaguely metallic notes and dirt from the trip on the plane. Palms sticky, old makeup crusted on her face.   

No, she had to do something.   

Cautiously peeking through the bars resulted in an angry shove from the guard. This time it was the middle aged, white skinned, dark haired man. His unkind eyes reminded her of a dog. Not only because of their colour, clear, glacial blue like that of a Husky's, but mostly because he seemed to both seize and challenge her at the same time.   

She never liked rising to a taunt. Now she didn't dare even contemplate what that would imply.   

Eventually, only her makeup went off with a sacrifice of two precious cotton pads. First rays of the sun peeked into the courtyard as she lay down to sleep.   

The bed smelled of a basement. Not exactly mouldy, but of nearby moisture and stone walls, a characteristic, earthy mix. It wasn't exactly unpleasant. Mattress was just some foam put together, poor isolation against the stone ground leaching every ounce of warmth from her body. Scratchy blankets, one underneath, other covering her, reminded her of home. She used to have one just like it, warm light brown check with thin red lines. There was no pillow, but she didn't really need one.   

Thump of boots on the corridor shook her out of first sleep. She jerked upright, hurdling close to the wall, knees bent before her. The guard marched slowly past the cell, not even glancing her way. When he didn't get back after a minute her breath settled back from accelerated huffs she unconsciously switched to. Shuddering slightly, her head plopped back to the wall, mind going through best possibilities of sleep. Sitting up gave her the advantage of staying alert the longest, thanks to increased range of view compared to simply laying down. But the walls surrounding her on both sides were leeching her body heat. Then again, without support of the corner she would just plop back on her side, essentially lying down.   

Fuck this shit. 

oOo

 

Morning air carried a long forgotten quality, invigorating him with the possibilities it carried. Bane let himself experience another minute without the mask, this contraption that both enslaved and empowered him. He had been excited since the previous night, giddiness settling in his bones and muscles, hard to shake. 

For the time being he settled in a chair by the desk, picking up a book he retrieved from the woman's car. ‘De revolutionibus orbium coestelium.’ 

His lips quirked upwards.   

Coincidence always made him suspicious, but this course of events was entirely improbable. Background check confirmed occupation of the woman, exotic as it was. No criminal record, couple foreign ventures outside of the EU. Overall - a perfectly boring average person. Extracurricular interests ventured slightly and safely into subjects like cooking, etiquette, reading books and quite surprisingly - long range shooting.   

That one didn't quite fit. Bane liked a puzzle; his mind was set on figuring out why such eclectic mix of interests defined one person. Was something left out? Concealed? Even if the woman herself didn't realize what it was, he would extract that information. Rarely did he have an opportunity at studying an average citizen. Something he never had a chance to be.   

His fingers danced through the pages of the manuscript. It was a lovingly crafted piece. One that took months to accomplish. His eyes shifted to a leather pen case lying beside the bookcase. Foregoing the manuscript, his strong fingers unfurled the piece. Long row of pens, penholders, brushes and other devices he could not name filled the length of the strip like surgeons scalpels, each and every one with an assigned function and purpose. Curiously, he shelled out a tin container, to find a collection of nibs rattling inside.   

He reached out from his chair to grab canvas bag that originally carried the case. Bottles of ink clinked of off small containers of pigments, a jar of glue and a folding knife.   

He took the latter out for closer inspection. The blade was simple, one of those cheap ones you could find in almost every shop with hunting gear. It was maintained well, sharp and clean, with pretty good balance for an item of poor quality. Of course he probably looked at its utility dramatically different from its owner. He rummaged through the bag again, but found only a stack of parchment, some paper tissues and two linen handkerchiefs.   

Relaxing back into the chair he surveyed the tools one more time. Fingers of his left hand rubbed together absentmindedly, impatiently. The prisoner would probably have already had a few hours of sleep.   

Trek through the compound took him half an hour. Every few steps there was someone to greet, an order waiting to be given, an advice or even a simple comment. Patiently he readjusted the strap of canvas bag on his shoulder, tended to every matter. He liked knowing of little things. Bustling camp surrounding him was his responsibility, the structure carefully tailored and maintained to work flawlessly whether he was here or not. Still, intimate knowledge of every aspect of life in the group gave him a measure of control. Control meant discipline, and discipline equalled predictability. He prized that, since it let him see issues clearly, usually long before they actually emerged to be harmful or disruptive.   

From the command room, the only place on the compound furnished with electronics, he beelined to the cells. Seven steps down to the subterranean level were all it took to envelop him in so familiar scent of damp stone. Old walls retained coolness even during high summer but now, in March, the cold was overpowering.   

To most, at least.   

This time he chose to come quietly to the cell. Marco, the guard at the post, stood to attention as soon as he saw Bane.   

He waved a hand dismissively.   

"How is our little guest?"   

"Sleeping now. Ate lunch provided, drank two rations of water."   

"Good," he handed the bag to the guard, "Keep that out of sight."   

When he came to the cell, he threaded his massive fingers through the bars as during his previous visit. The woman was indeed asleep, huddled in a corner. She raised the mattress so that her back was isolated from the wall. Cocooned in blankets, she reminded him of similar figure he used to watch sleep. Hair obscuring her face was the wrong colour, wrong texture and length, but in the scarce light of the basement the likeness unsettled him nonetheless.   

"Miss Wolf," he said.   

Mechanically altered sound of her name kicked her out of the sleep immediately. She twitched violently, at once her head straightening up, eyes snapping open. Alert, present in the moment. Just like the woman in the Pit…   

The shape of the eyes was also wrong though, shattering the illusion quickly, to Bane’s quiet relief.   

"Refreshed?" he asked.   

She didn't attempt to conceal heavy sigh. Her eyes, tired and anxious, trained on him for a while. He observed, as she dared to survey the cell for changes.   

"Not really, but thank you for your concern."   

He noted an exasperated note in her voice.   

"I would like you to make a list of supplies."   

Her head cocked slightly to the side. "That requires some tools to accomplish."   

His left hand stretched towards the guard, who deposited the bag in his open palm. "That can be arranged."   

Recognizing the bag she smiled.

 

oOo

 

Her mind festered over her situation. Measuring her cell took her exactly four steps, each way, ten seconds round trip. There was no set time of release, which nagged at her continuously. She fought the urge to bite her nails, instead fidgeted with her hair. 

Pointless. Everything was pointless anyway. Who was to say, perhaps, that Bane wouldn't actually kill her, instead of letting her leave when the manuscript would be finished. He could do anything to her, and no one would be the wiser. Conveniently, her mind supplied every frame of horror and thriller movies. Pulling off nails. Cutting away parts of flesh. Breaking bones. Beatings. Waterboarding. All those horrible Abu Ghraib stuff, she didn't even want to delve into in her own mind.   

Come to think of it, some of the guards were definitely Middle-Eastern, some African… She suspected more than a few of them had loose morals concerning women. Women prisoners even more so. Probably. Even though Bane himself seemed courteous… Lent her books, fed her, allowed time to bathe… Who's to say he wouldn't flick his hand one day for his man to abuse her?   

Her pacing picked up speed.   

She was sick and tired of being at their mercy. Always asking, always polite for fear of  making them angry. Rare glimpses of her true character did escape her here and there, mostly around Bane, but every time it happened, she chastised herself afterwards.   

The only way she saw to survive this was to endure, with dignity. Showing all of them class and restraint of a structured, educated mind.   

All those people were just mercenary scum. Idiots without any education, who couldn't reasonably do anything else in life.   

What was their occupation outside these walls anyway? Probably terrorizing farmers in Belarus. Or something.   

Her hand travelled automatically to her lips. She slid the pad of her thumb on the edge of her top teeth. Grazing the nail, not really biting it. Teasing.   

She decided to work out, but after lying down for some crunches she changed her mind. Sluggishly, she travelled two steps to the bed. Sleeping could help her settle down her nerves.   

Gingerly, she put a book on her face to shut off at least some of the light. The smell calmed her, a familiar musk of old paper worn out from years of use.   

Sleep should help.

 

oOo

 

The afternoon meal sat, almost untouched, on the floor. 

Helena slumped boneless in a corner, mattress and blanket tightly wrapped around her. Intermittent tremors slightly shook her frame. She didn't feel like writing. Last night passed sluggishly, fingers smashed in her ears, humming whatever came to mind to drown out the noise of woman and child crying. Somewhere during the night she fantasized about crossing the corridor and just grabbing their necks, until tranquillity would reign over their underground prison once more.   

But it was calm now, and she still couldn't unfurl herself from her safe spot in the corner. The guards didn't pay her any mind and she in turn didn't bother them unnecessarily. It was obvious she had a job to do, and until her tools arrived she was stuck in a limbo of downtime. Free to dissect each minute of past week, every implication of the situation she was forced into. She slept fitfully, strived to memorize pattern of rounds guards made passing her cell door and window, listened in on every bit of conversation that wisped over to her ears.   

It was pointless. She gave up, spent her days trying to sleep. No one came to torture her. Again, she toyed briefly with the idea of someone coming to rape her out of sheer boredom encompassing the whole compound. That was until she spotted on the courtyard a flock of women, looking definitely out of place. First, for being young women at all, and foremost for wearing hardly anything in positively biting March atmosphere.   

No one haunted them with cat calls, the work seemed to be progressing as usual, but palpable tension hung in the air. Tall black guard who was on duty at the time paced through the corridor with curious spring in his gait, steps noticeably longer and more brisk than usual.

So, fear of abusing her slightly diminished, she grabbed chunks of sleep through the day. Still, she didn't feel comfortable enough to bare her back. As it would make any difference, if any of the mercenaries did fancy investing their time in any form of misconduct. But defiant even against her own reason, she kept cropping up in her corner. It was cozy in a barren, ugly and miserable way. Warm spot for fantasizing on improbable means of escape.   

Eventually, she stopped even her daydreaming, immersing herself in silence.   

She missed the guard, the black one again, inspecting her with brief, precise glances. His eyes noted the dish, untouched notepad and pen, her huddled frame on the cot.   

The stress made her insides roll. Her stomach tumbled the food over with a force of an industrial washing machine. Her head hurt too. Skin felt clammy, she sweated profusely. She just sat there, numb. The guard escorted her to the restroom whenever she asked, without a word, as always, but she didn't want to press her luck and ask again to go.   

She could endure.   

Sleep should help.   

Only, she couldn't stay asleep for longer than what felt like five minutes. It could as well be anything between thirty minutes and two hours in truth, but she just couldn't get any respite. Lack of rest made her feel dizzy, almost as if inebriated. She rode the feeling. It was similar to meditation in a way, like her mind separated from her body and just waited for the fuss to be done and over with. As if.   

The other cell was conspicuously silent, which she noted with great relief. She couldn't deal with crying and whining at this point. Her eyes focused on the guard. It was the tall, black-skinned handsome again. Always stoically calm and collected. She envied him. It looked like it was effortless to him, staying level headed. She imagined he was a rock of calmness even in midst of battle. Her mind jumped to the memory of shooting. That always worked in winding her down.   

Find a comfortable position. Settle down. Adjust the scope.   

She smiled, almost feeling the ground underneath, the butt of the rifle securely pressed to her shoulder.   

Load the magazine. Eyes on target.   

Memory of centric circles in black and white seemed crystal clear before her eyes, seemed close enough to touch.   

Attach the mag. Load the clip. Caress the trigger.   

Shoot.   

Warm satisfaction spread through her belly, as if she really set a bullet in the middle of paper target. The nervous ball pressing on her stomach unwound slightly.   

One minute she was perched in her spot in the corner, then she refocused again to the sight of stone floor, covered in her own bile.   

Curious.   

Strong arms picked her up, laid efficiently on her side at straightened out mattress. She plopped lazily on her back.   

The guard was frowning at her, speaking to the communicator.  

She smiled at him.   

Then, promptly, she rolled back to her side and vomited again. 


	3. Tour of Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably won't have time to post during the weekend, so here it is. :) Chapter three.  
> Thank again for the kudos left, they mean a lot to me!  
> :)

Bane rarely remembered his dreams.

Most of the days he rationed his sleep to two or three brackets, tucked between commanding his men, overseeing their work, exercising, and working on his paper. Three, maybe four hours at a time, one eye always open, wherever felt adequate and safe at the moment.

While on the compound, he sometimes indulged in a luxury of an extravagant six hour rest in his bed. Mostly though, he made do only with reading while splayed on comfortable mattress, eventually always drawn to work at his desk.

Despite its Spartan appearance, his life was comfortable. He had his own quarters; more than one in fact, set the way he liked. His meals prepared always according to his wishes. All books he could ever want were just an instance away. Trinkets, gear, vehicles - all there. Carefully balanced were his excursions, time spent with his men, and the leisure he allowed - to them and himself.

Contrary to his fears, he didn't grow soft with time. The stability straightened him, fortified his bones, nourished muscles, stabilized and sharpened his mind. Ferocity of his youth, volatile moods and brutal behaviour that earned him his name crystallized into a focused determination. There was nothing he had to prove anymore. He set his goals, charted path towards them, and unfailingly, proceeded accomplishing them. Through the years, he shifted from tangible things to ideals.

He picked and chose whom to strengthen, whom to strike. Unlike the League of Shadows, he didn't build a philosophy or a legend around his actions. The people advancing humanity towards order were his brothers in mind. They might choose different paths and means, but ultimately, he was the wolf that protected the forest from rotting from the inside. Regardless of what others thought of the purges he unravelled over their homes.

At times he only got satisfaction of ending an unproductive, unnecessary being. Most of the time though, his efforts were sought out and handsomely paid for. Sometimes, spoils of war included more than just money.

Today was one of those days. Days he would indulge himself.

The orders were given yesterday, soon the transport should arrive.

Straightening slowly, he allowed himself to experience the pleasure on an unhurried morning. Even after decades, he had to make a conscious effort. Feeling sheets sliding across his skin. Hypnotizing warmth of covers wearing off his limbs in the crisp air. Blankly staring at droplets of dew clinging to the windows, myriad reflections colourful like a kaleidoscope.

The shower was hot and humid. Brief reprieve he got from the mask was spent efficiently on eating, shaving, brushing teeth.

Then, a knock reverberated through silent rooms.

They were here.

He leaned on the doorframe of his bedroom, arms folded, waited for the women to scurry inside prompted by his men. He would get the first pick, and then the rest would have time to enjoy themselves. The lucky few mercenaries chosen by the officers and himself.

His eyes focused on the group.

He didn't have a type, set array of parameters to look for in a woman. Willingness wasn't really a factor, as all of his guests were prostitutes. Every single one slim, lovely built, barely clothed as to appeal easily to every man.

Sparse movement of his hand singling out one of the women was instantly picked up by their escort. All but one were hurried out and away.

She was a lovely thing, young, curvaceous where it counted, fit. Gracious smile tugged her wide lips open a fraction.

"How are you today?", she asked in Armenian.

"Eager," he said, with a smile hidden behind the mask, but palpable in his voice.

Her own grin widened impossibly.

"Well then, whatever you desire, I'll deliver."

One slender brow rose high, blatant disbelief openly visible in his eyes. He retreated back to the bedroom.

"You're more than welcome to try, my dear."

 

oOo

 

The compound was waking to life with a melody of its own.

Rustling of sheets on bunks being made. Guards yawning, slurping coffee. Lazy scraping of feet, people shuffling slowly to get into positions. Guns clicking, knives sliding out and back in sheathes.

Freshly out of her morning ablutions - courtesy of one of the guards to let her use bathroom regularly - Helena settled on her bed. She felt better than the night before, pumped on antibiotics, full of hearty soup she was ordered to drink throughout the day.

The day ahead would probably look the same as ones before that. She developed a routine, with her future occupation in mind.

Invariably her days started close to dawn, when some men gathered for prayers somewhere to the left from her only window. They were a strange, eclectic group. Muslims all, or most of them, but from different sects as far as she could tell. They prayed only twice daily, sometimes not even that, their voices resonating between walls of the compound.

Rest of the men seemed to observe no faith, or if they did, they chose to practice in more intimate setting.

She wondered briefly, what Bane made of it.

She wondered about him often.

Few minutes into prayers there was a change of guards, and she was accompanied to the bathroom. Most of the time, as well as today, by the tall, muscular black skinned man who had helped her yesterday.

He never spoke to her.

Ten minutes in, regardless of her progress, as she found out on the first day, he escorted her out. Or dragged, if necessary.

The rest of the day was a vast stretch of boredom, with very short interludes of humble meals in the morning and around midday. Middle Eastern cuisine, vegetables, rice, and beans.

More boredom, then at dusk another meal, trip to bathroom, after an hour or two of reading - lights out.

Day after day, the same.

She used her time to think about the book, wonder about Bane, and learn the inner workings of her prison. No guards spoke to her, but if she asked for something, it appeared by her bed in the morning. She had neat stack of books by now, one per day spent waiting in the cell. Mostly classics of European literature. She breezed through each in few hours, which left her everyday with ample time to observe what little of the courtyard she could see from her narrow window.

Today she got 'Count of Monte Cristo', which made her laugh as soon as she saw it. She knew this one by heart, so she decided to spend her day compiling everything she had learned about the man imprisoning her.

Although Bane communicated with his men mostly in English, she heard him using other languages frequently. Mercenaries between themselves also spoke English, but often in smaller groups used what she suspected to be their native tongues. She identified a few, German, Chinese, Spanish, Japanese, Arabic. Most though, she didn't hear enough to pinpoint.

The monastery was inhabited largely by mercenaries, but not exclusively. She saw sometimes a figure or two in long skirts, bustling around briefly at odd times. Some old men, too frail to be of any combat value as well. Those people tended to focus on an area somewhere to the left from her cell. She caught a waft of aromatic air coming from that direction.

Mostly though, she observed teen to middle aged men of all colours and sizes. Each and every one constantly in paramilitary getup, guns close by. Sparring, strolling, tending to their gear. They disappeared in groups sometimes. Often led by Bane, coming back few hours or days later bloody, exhausted, proud.

Today it seemed would be one of those days. Familiar SUVs stood in the middle of the courtyard, trunks open. Younger guys packed them up with weapons and packages, while some veterans stood by supervising with smokes and leers.

All stood at attention when Bane came out of the main building.

Everything seemed to mute the minute he appeared. People's movements got slower and more deliberate, conversations hushed, died out, all eyes tracked his movements. He was an imposing figure, but there was a quality in the air around him that would command attention regardless of his stature. Charisma mixed with fear, a heady concoction brewed and maintained by the man himself. Helena suspected a hint of admiration and awe as well.

In herself she found even lust.

It frightened her the very first time she observed him, and realized fully how it affected her. There were many younger, shapelier men around, men with their handsome faces boldly displayed to the world. But she knew the hint of attraction she felt had less to do with looks, formidable as they were, and more with his attitude. Power was an extremely strong aphrodisiac. Not only the hold he had on her, as a prisoner, although that did indeed play a vital role in her predicament. She was fascinated with utter respect of his mercenaries, this almost heretic admiration they seemed to hold for him.

Yet, he talked to them as they were brothers. Younger ones, but still. Not quite equal, not really out of reach. Approachable, but with great care. He pierced people with steely gaze, dissecting them. Exposing their fears and uncertainties.

Helena was surprised she learnt that through observation rather than experience. Her brief conversations with Bane verged on inappropriate, while being both frivolous and to the point. She wanted to be disoriented by that, but honest inspection of her own mind on the matter proved unusually clear.

She was kidnapped. Kept against her will in foreign country, by a very well organized military group. Terrorists or mercenaries. A task was given to her which gave her shadow of a purpose. They were being civil towards her, despite the circumstances - she fared rather well.

Her position was clear, allowances and meagre luxuries laid out plainly in straight, obvious lines.

There was nothing she could do.

There was no one she wanted to share news of her position with. Neither her sister, nor her ex-husband. What good would it do, anyway? There wasn't any money for a ransom, even if Bane agreed somehow to let her go. No government agency would risk operatives for one hostage, without clear political gain.

She was trapped. Alone.

It didn't feel half as bad, as she supposed it should.

Not just yet.

A rustle just outside her door had her glancing curiously on the corridor.

The guard slouched in a chair, arms folded, positioned a little to the right, probably to supervise both occupied cells at the same time.

Helena shifted to the door, wrapping her fingers around bars on level with her head.

She smiled at the man.

His eyes narrowed.

"Thank you for helping me yesterday."

No reaction.

"I apologize for any inconvenience I must have caused."

He looked away.

"I'm Helena," she tried, "What's your name?"

His eyes turned back to her, only to mock her with a smirk and raised eyebrow.

Two can play that game.

"I see, you're not allowed to familiarize. Smart."

Both eyebrows arched up.

"I'll have to find a name for you myself, then." She glanced back theatrically at the book she got this morning. He noticed. She grinned at him again. "So how about I'll call you 'Ali'?"

He snorted. She was a tad surprised he either was detached enough and chose not to be offended, or knew who the character was. A laugh was not the reaction she expected.

"Ok, Ali, I'll leave you to it, then. Thanks again."

She plopped back on the cot, opened the book in the middle.

"It's James."

She smirked, looking up to acknowledge him with a short nod.

 

oOo

 

Bane felt a bubbly, fizzing sensation in his chest as he watched Helena preparing the final list. He was giddy. One wouldn't call what he did peeking curiously… But he realized that was what he was doing. He would collect the items personally during his excursion to the compound in Norway, and he couldn't wait to get a hold of everything that for now stayed only as an idea on paper.

He would make it a tangible thing. As he always did.

The amount of preparation that came with physically creating a copy of a manuscript reminded him of a military operation. Reconnaissance - what materials is the original made of? With what technique? Which tools? Then, planning. How to lay out everything, so the end result would mimic priceless book as close as possible? How much time would it take to finish a page, a chapter, whole manuscript? Assembling all necessary tools, organizing people, and finally the execution, all carefully planned out on a sheet of paper.

He was anxious to see the labour of creating a copy of the book. Not only because of its contents, but mostly because he loved them.

Books were his only companions throughout his tumultuous life. Even Talia wasn't a constant for him as much as it pained him to realize one day. But books, his research, steady and stable facts were his rocks. He played with theories, constructed hypothesis but always, invariably leaned on bedrock of knowledge - one that was always self-verifying and checking its steadiness.

Briefly, his mind entertained the idea of keeping the woman with him indefinitely, using her skill to create an old fashioned library of the greatest works known to mankind - each and every one handmade, copied to the letter or fashioned according to his instructions and taste if the original was nowhere to be found. This compound would have been perfect for keeping it too. An old monastery, trapped in wilderness.

Smile invisible from behind the grille of his ask creeped slowly on his lips. That fantasy was way easier to realize than some of the other undertakings he accomplished so far, so maybe…

Rustle of a sheet of paper brought him out of his musings. Reflexively he took a neatly calligraphed list in his hands.

"These are all the things I could think of to recreate the book as closely as I can," Helena stated matter-of-factly while rolling out her neck. She looked both tired and excited, an unusual and interesting mix, giving her an air very close to one of his mercenaries. "I imagine the price of materials won't be problematic, but I included some alternatives if the best in slot items could not be obtained." Bane nodded, scanning the list. "Also, you might notice at the bottom estimated time of finishing the project, provided I work every day without day off, eight to ten hours without long breaks."

He did notice, the date a tad more distant than he would have imagined. On the right there was also a neat number ending with a Euro sign.

Looking back up at her he almost laughed.

"Do you expect to be paid for this?"

Surprised, her brows shot up, then furrowed in incomprehension. Then, she covered her face with one hand, scoffing softly.

"Yeah, force of habit, that," she smiled. "At least you know what my rate is. Apart from keeping me alive after I'm done here."

Her matter-of-fact attitude was a nice change, seeing how he usually had to wrestle everything he wanted from people. She wasn't demure, there wasn't any false platitudes, just straightforward expectations and realistic at that. Refreshing. Like her calmness in the airplane, in the middle of a panic attack. He wondered briefly if she might be still in shock, or if not, what made her develop control over herself to this extent. Her life so far didn't seem to prepare her for any of the stress he was putting her through.

"You will start your work when my men collect your items."

Dismissal was plain, he turned and went out of the cell folding the paper and stuffing it in a pocket inside his flak jacket.

He liked the silence that accompanied his departure.

 

oOo

 

The work started on April 6th, setting back her expectations for a finish by two weeks. One day she woke to find crates of pigments, vellum, paint brushes, nibs, and penholders. Unloading everything in neat rows on the floor took her almost an hour.

Stuff was missing.

There were no knives, blades, needles or anything made of metal and sharp, save for nibs.

She settled herself more comfortably on the floor, back resting on the bed frame, elbows on knees, hands outstretched. She couldn't work without all her tools, so there would be a discussion.

The question was how to approach the subject. Should she admit knowing how to use everything else she had as a weapon? Technically, at least, she did know what to do; all she was missing was the experience of maiming or killing a person. Easily correctable in this setting. On the other hand, the more calm and collected she would stay about the whole ordeal of working for the mercenary, the bigger the possibility of staying alive and well.

At least she hoped so.

Thud of boots echoed down the walls of the corridor. Heartbeat picking up a notch she tried to stay as calm as possible. Bane hadn’t visited her in a while.

"Good morning," he threaded his hands through the bars, resting them outstretched on elbows, much like she did.

"Good morning, Bane."

"Are you satisfied with your supplies?"

"They are very good, thank you." Helena stood up slowly, paced close to the door. She looked him over briefly, wondering what to say next. "Some things from my list appear to be missing, though."

"Indeed?" He cocked his head to the side, obviously amused.

"Some of them I need to start the work at all."

Nonchalantly he rested edge of one hand on her shoulder. It was heavy, impassive. Helena realized he wanted her to draw the conclusion for herself. It could be a threat… but only if given a reason to threaten.

He just stood there, measuring her response.

"I really can't start without a drawing table and a chair. A good lamp or two would also help a lot."

"Hmm," his eyes crinkled when he narrowed them pensively. "I'll see what can be done about it. Anything else?" Taunting.

"Yes, since you're limiting my access to sharp tools I would like some help with cutting vellum for pages and eventually stitching the book together. We could also discuss what kind of cover you'd like to have, since the original is rather dull."

"Later," was all he said, sliding his palm off her, going back.

She looked after him until his grand silhouette disappeared behind the corner, wondering if it showed that she had a soft spot for authoritarian men in combat boots and cargo pants. And form hugging thermal shirts.

Frustrated sigh escaped her as she plopped down on her bed.

It disturbed her how easily she responded to a stranger, when half her marriage passed on desperately trying to ignite back 'the spark' towards her husband. One of the reasons they broke up was her supposed iciness in bed. For the last three years she sought for anything that could make her cream as easily as the masked mercenary did. Figures. She kept celibacy, first because there was no desire to sleep with her husband, then because she didn't want to cheat on him, only to be kidnapped by a personification of her favourite kink, just when she was ready to get back to dating scene.

And her cell was monitored by guards just outside the door, around the clock.

No point dwelling on it.

She got back up and organized all tools back in the boxes. No work until she gets a desk, so she might as well read.

Later during the day James escorted her two stories up. During their stroll she resolutely kept quiet, glancing around curiously. The room they arrived at was spacious compared to her cell. Sparsely furnished, it was nonetheless adequate. Single window was completed with frame and glass, instead of only bars. The bed was more than just mattress on the ground, and there even was an armoire.

Above all, one whole corner of the room was occupied by a working station.

The door clicked shut behind her, so she didn't waste any time acquainting herself with her workplace.

Previous weeks were just a muffled memory. She could finally start her work. The sooner she would finish the book, the sooner the mercenary would let her go. If everything went according to her plans she would be done with the manuscript by September. That would mean six months imprisoned. Not that bad. Almost one month passed already, anyway. And she gave Bane an exaggerated timeframe for her work, so she could impress him with her agility.

If she lived through the ordeal, that is.

She set her supplies in order, and prepared for the task ahead.

 

oOo

 

Rough sketch of the page looked promising. She tried out italic first, but decided against it, on the merit of uncial script being both used in the original and corresponding visually with the place she was at. Armenia. She was sure of it. At the most it could be neighbouring country, maybe Azerbaijan. Hand holding the paper dropped to her lap. What were her chances of getting back home when she was this far away?

Leaning back, she sighed.

If she somehow managed to break away out of the compound, there was no telling how far the closest town was. She had to get to a police station, find someone who speaks the same language as her. Notify the embassy or consulate, whichever was closer. Maybe she could play with the information she gathered while captured to get home faster.

A sly smile tugged at her lips.

How does one contact the CIA?

"In a good mood today?" Rumbling mechanical voice came from the door of her room.

Helena opened her eyes, but didn't turn to face her visitor. "Just daydreaming."

"I see you were already working on the book."

"Working out which hand to use, actually. It will impact both layout and overall graphic feel of the whole piece. I was thinking it would be best to do it in the same hand used originally, maybe a tad more refined. Would you like there to be illustrations, or just plain text as in the original?"

"I trust your judgement on the matters of aesthetic."

"It's your book," she scoffed, "I would hate to discover halfway through that you don't like the way it turns out."

"Fair enough," with a smirk he stepped closer. "Show me."

She simply outstretched her hand, picking up almost forgotten sheet of paper from her lap.

With a slight grunt he leaned on the wall beside her, examining the sheet, switching swiftly to the others spread on the desk.

Helena took the opportunity to observe him up close. He nodded at few pieces, an action that she saw often, an involuntary reflex of sorts. He also rubbed his fingers a lot when he seemed impatient. She suspected he was somewhat handsome behind the mask, seeing how regular his visible features were. Mountains of muscle obvious under his skin spoke volumes on his outlook on his body. There was visible fat here and there, thickness about his middle hinting that everything was built specifically with strength and endurance in mind. Utilitarian.

Her eyes focused on the soft hollow of his throat, visible above his black shirt. It was strangely vulnerable spot to see on such powerful man. The contrast between harshness of the mask, the softness of thin skin there, and overall thickness and sturdiness of his neck made her mind numb.

What would it be to feel that skin under her fingertips?

If the circumstance was different she was sure to at least try grabbing his attention with a set goal in mind. Especially now, fasted for touch and attention as she was.

Come to think of it, he was only person on the compound she could talk with.

"Are the guards forbidden to talk to me?," she asked, as her gaze met his eyes.

"You stare too much," he said.

Tiredly, she smiled. What was she thinking, expecting a straight answer to a question like that? "Not much else I can do in here," she replied.

"Some of the men think that's indecent."

"Oh." Scoffing. "Go figure."

"I can see what they meant."

"So you couldn't before," she mocked. "What did I do to change your mind?"

"You stare too much." He straightened up swiftly.

She thought she saw hint of a smile from behind the grille of the mask as he left her room.


	4. Not as Black as He is Painted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out I carved at least two extra chapters from my drafts... I'm wondering what to do with that now. Cut out fluff, leaving only the vital parts? Leave everything as is? Mix stuff around?
> 
> Anyway, hope you'll enjoy the new chapter! :)

Workplace set, Helena took a deep breath.

Dipped pen in an inkwell, sighed and wrote the first word. She didn't start writing from the very first page, instead chose a short chapter in the middle of the manuscript. First try on parchment paper, to get a hold of the spacing and flow of the original.

It was a good decision, because her hand shook and cramped after only a paragraph. She looked critically at the words, still damp on the sheet. Pathetic. The only upside was that she didn't screw up any good vellum yet.

She settled for another try.

Still slightly shaking. Stems of the letters seemed to haphazardly wobble all over the place, while the script itself got gradually smaller and more constricted due to stiffness in her palm and arm.

That would not do.

She put down the pen, got up to pace around the room. Some muscle flexing exercises should help her settle for another try, she hoped.

Three hours later she was nearly sobbing. For now she just raked fingers through her hair, trying desperately to figure out what to do. It must have been the stress, so she needed to relax. Easy as that. The problem was she needed to relax for almost two years now, to no avail. The added pressure of being kidnapped only added to her overall stiffness.

Come to think of it, there were rare instances she felt maybe not at ease per se, but pleasantly mellow here on the compound. Mostly around Bane.

Just how to get back to it right now?

"I thought there was no writers block when you only have to copy others’ work." Raspy mechanical voice from around the door startled her back to reality.

She fisted her tresses harder. The tension eased a bit as if he was a balm to her nerves.

Her brows knitted together.

"What did you do to me?", she asked through gritted teeth.

She turned around after a long while without an answer, terrified of what she would see. The question came out of nowhere since she usually had a very good grip on her temper. But he unbalanced her. Even though she tried especially hard to stay level headed in light of her kidnapping.

His massive frame shook, gloved hand obscured top half of his face.

Petrified with fear she just stared. If she crossed the line…

Bellowing laugh erupted from behind the mask, amplified by the device. It bounced off the walls, startling the guards in the corridor outside, trickled down through the window stopping everyone on the courtyard.

"Adorable," he sighed finally, gradually calming. "You have been very good with your little act. I was wondering when you would let it slip. About time, now." He outstretched one massive palm towards her, curling fingers in invitation. "Come."

Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shikitty shit.

Never looking back he led her through the corridors and stairs to the little courtyard at the back of the compound. Nonchalantly he motioned for her to get inside the jeep parked by the gate, took the driver's seat himself. He barked some orders at the guards and, as the gate opened, received a scarf from one of his men. Without a word he put it on her head, securing it with a tight knot at the back.

She scoffed. "Is that really necessary?"

"Humour me."

The drive could last easily anything between an hour and five. Car tumbled down the hill on a sneaking dirt road, climbed back up a few times, then down again. Shook on a paved footbridge of sorts. Eventually, it reached soothing expanse of a tarmac driveway, only to divert back to hole ridden backroads. Up, up, up they went, sneaking around some mountain apparently. The light changed infrequently, subtle smells permeated the air even though all the windows were tightly shut.

Helena tried to measure passing time with songs, but after the sixth time she hummed Doris Day's "Dream a Little Dream of Me" she lost her nerve. For all she knew, they could be going in circles anyway. She nearly fell from her seat when the jeep finally stopped.

Bane roughly shoved the blindfold off her face.

"Come."

Vast plateau stretched around her, the only variance in a table-like surface the car and a hut, close to which they parked. Absentmindedly, Helena bound her hair in a ponytail to keep it from getting into her eyes in the gushing wind. She turned around, noting Bane’s broad back as he disappeared into the hut, tucking car keys in one of many pockets on his pants.

Was that it? Was she driven here to be shot, tortured, burned alive? Left to fend for herself in an inhospitable, foreign land?

The latter wouldn't be too bad. Just at the moment she warmed to that thought, Bane emerged from the hut with some scaffolding of sorts, papers and a camping mat. Dumbfounded, Helena just stared.

"Come along," he said, throwing the mat on the ground as he strolled past her. She jogged behind him. The walk was short, a hundred meters or so. She watched as Bane set up what turned to be shooting targets.

She felt surreal, strangely detached as she wondered if she would be the last prop to be tied to the frames.

But no. They went back to the car. Iron weight like pressure on her chest eased marginally with each step. Bane fished out the keys and opened the trunk. He pulled out a rifle, as if it was merely a twig, nearly threw it in her hands.

"Set it up."

She cradled the weapon close to her chest. "Why?"

Trunk door closed with a thud. He closed in on her, took her arm with his left hand, pushing her forward. Clinking box of ammunition hung carelessly in his right palm.

"Nothing just disappears," he mused, gauging her reaction to his words. "It is as true in nature, as it is in technology."

The understanding dawned on her like an epiphany. "You've found my blog."

"An interesting piece, if I do say so myself."

Ass.

"Oh, is that so?" murmured, as she kicked the mat open, positioning it roughly towards the targets. Kneeling on it she busied herself with unclasping the spikes from the body of the gun.

Lied down. Adjusted the height of the barrel.

She knew this type of rifle. Sturdy build, simple scope. Quintessential. Easy.

"I found your ruminations on the purpose of life especially fascinating."

"Do tell."

Find a spot where butt of the gun rests easy against your shoulder. Determine the best position to see through the scope.

Bane kneeled next to her, producing set of earplugs from the confines of his numerous pockets. She took it with mumbled thanks, frowning over the distance to targets. Was it hundred meters or less? Her fingers nimbly fiddled with the scope, trying to find the perfect starting position. Resetting everything to zero seemed like a good idea.

"Don't you think it's contradictory to both find peace shooting and yet craving a life of no thrills?"

"Obviously, I don't think so."

She tweaked the spikes a bit, adjusting to the perfect height, but after a while there was nothing to do to the rifle without actually shooting. With pad of the thumb she released the magazine with practiced ease. "Bullets?"

"Explain first."

She sighed. "This looks like a longer conversation. I can both shoot and talk. Bullets for information?"

She didn't really expect her little trade to work, but after a moment's consideration he produced five pieces of ammo from the box.

Cramming them into the spring-loading container she mused out loud. "So, first of all, the fact that I want a steady, uneventful life is imperative. I don't want fame, nor power. Just peace and quiet. As long as I can keep my integrity. I will be fine. Ambition to 'leave something behind' is foreign to me."

Ammo in, round loaded.

She focused on crosshairs.

First shot would be lost, anyway…, she thought.

"What about your work? What is it if not means to be remembered?"

She stayed silent as her breath slowed and levelled.

Target. Stay on the target.

Shot reverberated through the air.

Staying still few seconds after pulling the trigger, she used the time to rethink what she wanted to tell him. Noticed the bullet scuffed up a fountain of sand to the left of the target.

Was there a point in not being honest?

"You know, I used to take jobs for my friends, little ones, without pay. Stupid, I know, but it helped me realize why I liked doing what I do. I like making the world prettier. I like helping advance knowledge." She fussed over the scope, rumbling away. "If you stop to read a beautifully written sign, you will get the message, right? At least that's what I think. Most of all though, I like making people appreciate little things in life. Shit's important, and not enough realize it, I think. You know, to just stop and admire sunset, or really listen to a song, or enjoy your meal. If you ever received a handwritten letter that is perfect, from the contents of the message, all the way to the shade of the ink… Or a book, painstakingly created letter by letter, illustration after illustration…" One click to the right and she prepared for another shot. "There's just nothing quite like it."

Shot.

The bullet grazed leftmost corner of the target. She mused on the next spot to place the crosshairs as she reloaded.

"Who are you making happy with the gun, then?" Bane inquired. "If you were a sniper I would know. You don't even do competitions. It's pointless."

"It's just a hobby," she scoffed. "Something I like to do, and practice only for myself."

"Does it empower you?" Mocking.

"Not so much as it calms me down."

Shot.

Left corner again. Closer.

"When I shoot, there is nothing in the moment but me and the target." Reload, almost immediate shot again. Left part of the target, middle. Reload. "The only thing that concerns me is the path the bullet has to drop to the target."

Shot. Middle part of the target, closer still to the bullseye.

"I'm out of bullets." She turned to him, expectant. Sometime during her monologue he produced a spotting scope and was staring at her progress intently.

Leaning on a right elbow she used this opportunity to observe him closely yet again. Once you looked past his considerable frame, there were some tell-tale signs of age creeping up on him slowly. Crow’s feet around his eyes. The way he favoured his right wrist - come to think of it she rarely saw him without a stabilizer on it. The brace she saw on his back paired with the sluggish way he stood up from a crouch revealed problems with his spine. Not really surprising once you've noticed the scars stretching from the top of his neck deep down below his waistline.

How old could he be? Middle thirties? Early forties?

"Help yourself." With a flippant wave of his hand he motioned to the box he left behind on the ground. Cautiously, she loaded the magazine to full. Lodging back comfortably with the rifle she used the time she had to take another three shots.

Better. All holes were clumped together near the bullseye.

Absentmindedly, she mused what he was doing behind her. Shooting her in the back didn't seem his style. Besides, it would be suspiciously complicated plot, bringing her here only to hurt her. He could to that on the compound.

He could order it for someone else to do.

Come to think of it, why would he research her down her long ago deleted blog?

She turned, looking for him.

Bane was standing by the car, engrossed in something on his phone. Up until now, she never saw any of his men with a cell or a laptop.

Without moving his head he rumbled towards her, "Are you done?"

"I've got another seven rounds in the mag."

A nod.

Head ducking back she furrowed her brows.

Last shots were all in bullseye - or what she picked for it. She smirked to herself, satisfied. As usual, as every shot recoiled, in her chest bloomed the tranquillity of a unique flavour. She was both pumped on adrenaline, senses heightened and sharp, and at the same time she felt collected. Ready to work, to do something, anything.

Thud of boots came to her attention, and sure enough Bane appeared to her right. He checked the magazine and chamber, picked up the rifle.

"Go get the targets."

She kneeled up, but hesitated to move further. He fixed her with a stern stare. "Now."

"Right." No point double-guessing him now. Plenty of opportunity anyway to kill her. A round from sniper rifle, at this range especially, would be good. Instant death. Probably her body wouldn't even register any pain in shock, before giving up from massive trauma.

Howl of the wind accompanied her both ways. Metal rods were put in the ground so forcefully, she had to kick them to try and dislodge from the dirt. She broke a nail. The normalcy of the task was beautiful.

Eventually, with the pipes securely lodged on her shoulder she turned away from Bane. Just for a second, she wanted to imagine the possibility of just walking away. The sky stretched, impossibly blue, over the horizon. Clouds surged dramatically in time with rolling gale. With left hand she reached to let her hair down. One last breath of almost freedom to last her through coming weeks.

Drive back was shaping up to be as uneventful as their previous trip, but she didn't want it to be. Head cleared, she focused on the questions she wanted to ask Bane. Not like she would actually gather courage to inquire why exactly did he sacrifice his time to help her mellow? Why he even made an effort to rummage through her past ramblings?

She settled for stating the obvious for starters.

"Thank you for taking me out of the compound. I'm really grateful for that opportunity." Good manners seemed to be his pet peeve, so she gathered it would be safe opening to a conversation.

"You're welcome."

Silence.

"I think the work should come swiftly now, provided I won't lose my head over nothing. Again. I'm sorry about the way I acted earlier."

"Apology is politeness too late."

There wasn't anything that came to her mind to retort with. He wasn't wrong, only a condescending dick. But you get to be that when you're a terrifying mercenary overlord.

When he spoke again after few minutes of silence, oddly enough, it wasn't to chastise her again.

"So your life goes on Buddhist principles, I presume?", he nearly mumbled. It sounded almost absent-minded, but the underlying hint of true curiosity compelled her to think carefully on her answer.

"I am familiar with basic Buddhist philosophy, although I rather like to think of myself as an adept of Aristotle."

" ’ Meden agan’."

"Exactly." She nodded enthusiastically. Her hands gestured fitfully, as if she was conjuring lines in thin air. "It requires a degree of detachment and objectivism, and of course you're sure to make few enemies along the way, but for me it's the most comfortable and honest philosophy of life."

"Why is that?"

"It's logical, isn't it?" She tilted her blindfolded head. "Too much of one thing or too little can be equally damaging. And you have to keep a variety of interests to be a well-rounded individual, useful to society. Balance breeds calmness, calm results in satisfaction for the person who experiences it."

"Satisfaction turns into happiness."

"Yes!" She grinned. Her smile faltered after a while.

Two minutes passed, the only sound in the car the revving of the engine and wind whooshing past. Helena settled from her excitement, hands gripping the seat.

"Bane?"

"I would like to get back to this discussion in a few weeks’ time."

What an ass.

In an effort not to say anything she would regret, her teeth ground forcefully together for a few seconds.

"Fine."

She imagined she could hear him smirk.

 

oOo

April was nearing its end. She was at the mercenary’s compound for over a month now.

Workplace by the window proved to be an excellent vantage point. It never distracted her, instead providing relief for her eyes, and endless inspiration. She grew reliant on constant buzz of men scurrying around to keep her company, the white noise like an unobtrusive radio station. Even in interludes, when everything lulled to a stop, the compound itself proved to be an interesting subject to study.

Beige walls of the monastery were unadorned, worn down with decades of rain and sunlight. Still they had a kind of ragged beauty to them, charming in its sincerity.

The mountain stretched on the left, imposing in its bulk, barren and jagged. The chapel that was to her knowledge the technical heart of the compound, protruded from wall of stones like an ornate appendix, a sculpture partway abandoned, not fully emerged from the rock.

Further to the left, somewhere where she couldn't see, behind the corner perhaps, must have been the kitchen. Even before, while kept in the underground, she could smell the food in the air. Now, being on a level raised above the ground, aromatic air assaulted her in regular intervals. Somewhere in that direction must have been the second gate to the compound also, the one Bane used when he took her out shooting.

Main gate was clearly visible, winged by arcades stretching under long pavilions, containing most of the quarters on the compound. Opposite her window, a little to the left was a solitary tower, rising higher even than the chapel.

Helena got up from her desk, leaned on a windowsill, massaging her right wrist. The break was due for quite some time now. Her shoulder burned with well-known sting, the muscles complaining over hours she spent bent over the pages.

She sighed. This would be perfect for a smoke break, she thought. Her mind wandered back to the day of the kidnapping. She could swear she had some smokes on her, or maybe in her handbag. Also, she noticed one of her guards smoked too. She mulled over the possibility of making him part with one cigarette.

Unlikely.

Maybe she should just ask Bane.

Reflexively, she scowled. Always asking, always pleading. It rubbed her the wrong way.

Then again, brief encounters with the masked man were the only moments she could almost be herself. Certainly the only ones when she could have an actual conversation.

Her eyes shifted involuntarily to movement out front.

Bane.

She caught a glimpse of him in a window at the upmost level of the turret.

Go figure. The leader had his chambers at the best vantage point. Control freak.

For a while she just stared there, waited with bated breath to see him again.

Then she shook her head and turned back to her room.

Still much work to be done.

He visited at dusk, after her dinner, just before she prepared for the shower. The chapter she was working on almost done, he inspected the progress.

"I wanted to add some illuminations, just simple ones, as a backdrop corresponding with the subject," she started, still writing.

Bane loomed over, leaning on the wall to her right.

"You read Latin?"

"I don't. Was wondering if you could help me with that. "

He seemed taken aback.

"Well?" she inquired after a minute, turning her head towards him.

"That won't be necessary."

"Suit yourself."

He shifted towards the door.

"Think about it, though."

She didn't see the look he shot her just as he was leaving.

 

oOo

Days stretched impossibly, without changes in her routine.

Next time he visited, Helena was scaling the vellum with the ruler, preparing to sketch outline of pages from the piece. He let himself in, as he usually did, noiselessly. She noticed him this time only by coincidence, since her head was turned at an awkward angle.

She looked up at him.

"You need something?"

"No."

"Good," she went back to measuring and lining.

He observed in silence, leaning in his usual spot.

Helena was used to people watching her closely as she worked. Gawking at her hands dancing over paper, conjuring images with the nib of a pen. At least Bane didn't comment, just watched.

She prepared few skins for today's work.

"One of these days you’ll have to either grant me knife using privilege, or someone to help. I really need to cut this stuff to finish it."

He just grunted.

She worked in silence, immersing herself in the mundane reality. Hand never rushed, the letters slowly rose in neat rows, elegant shapes effortlessly flowing down from the movements of her arm.

"Why do you wear lipstick?"

"My lips are easily chapped."

"Why the tint?"

"I have a habit of biting my nails and chewing on my bottom lip. It helps to keep it in check. Lipsticks are usually foul tasting."

"Aha."

"Aha?" She turned to him slowly, suspiciously. "Why do you care all of a sudden if I wear makeup or not?"

He kept looking at her blankly.

"Oh wait, I know. Did your men complain again?"

"Perhaps."

"Seriously?!" She actually threw her hands in the air in exasperation. "First it's staring, now my cosmetics. One month more and the Muslim society of Mercenaries will clad me in a burqa!"

"You're comfortable here, are you not?"

Not really a question.

Helena was too far gone to depict the warning note in his tone.

"You're comfortable interrupting my work, are you not?"

He unstuck his back from the wall. "You forget yourself."

"I'm stating the obvious."

"Careful."

The 'or what?' danced on her tongue.

She was the first to back down, shifted to face the workstation again.

He left, leaving her slightly breathless with realization of the danger she almost brought onto her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah.
> 
> Next chapter will be entitled "Once in a Blue Moon". Coming soon, but not too soon. Would be sooner, if I had extra pair of eyes to go over the text.  
> (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)   
>  
> 
> And now... question time:
> 
> When I write about Bane I picture an amalgam: general air of Nolans version (obviously, the mask is simply superb), posture and some details of Arkham Origins guy, and for close ups I shamelessly describe, what I have at home. An unwitting, but very graceful model for anything male, including some of the views included in this pic (although, not always said from Banes perspective).
> 
> It seems like a strange hybrid perhaps, but for me it works.
> 
> So I was wondering, how do you see Bane, when you read a fic like this one?


	5. Once in a Blue Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is. I was fighting with myself not to upload this chapter too soon. Would you believe I'm a whole month ahead of my initial schedule with this story? ;)
> 
> But then I thought, to heck with it. I'm sick and tired of all the media coverage of the election, and I don't even live in US! So, if you're sick and tired of that too, read some fanfics.
> 
> Also, a quick rant, before we start.
> 
> I've discovered I really care about what people think about this story. It's not a big surprise, I mean, in general writers do that, right? But I thought I can stay detached. As it is, my heart leaps with every kudos, bookmark and whatnot (Thank you! So, so much!). 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy the read. 
> 
> There is one place marked with an asterisk, see the note at the end for an explanation. :)

"I miss cooking, you know?" Helena mused out loud, dipping the brush delicately in a jar of Prussian blue pigment. "Shooting is great, and it looks exotic on paper and in discussions with people… But it's like a holiday, a rarity, break in the routine. Day to day what really helped me relax was cooking," she mumbled.

Bane wondered idly if she talked to herself while he was away.

For a while the scribe worked in silence, sable hair gliding effortlessly on vellum.

"I mean, you don't have to actually cook yourself if eating is what helps you mellow. I sure as hell used to eat out as much as possible. It's just, well, when you can't cook for yourself for an extended period of time, you learn it's one of those things that keep life together, yeah?"

Bane scoffed. What was she doing, looking for affirmation like that?

She smirked, oblivious to him.

"Funny, huh? I never used to think twice about it. Now I fantasize about chopping onions. Sautéing chicken thighs. Peeling beetroots, all colours vibrant like in a stained glass picture. Picking apart herbs, sprig by sprig. Zesting a lemon, with the citrusy smell going everywhere. Working the dough for steamed buns. Nothing as soft and silky like yeast dough." Her hand stilled over the page. "Roasting a ham and having the whole house smell absolutely delicious. Slow cooking a stew on a cold day. Whipping up cream," she almost moaned, "Picking mushrooms in the forest."

Nostalgic, she sighed deeply.

Behind her the door shut closed quietly.

She smiled fondly. Bane had a habit of coming and going whenever it pleased him, and it grew on her. If she concentrated enough, she could convince herself it was charming.

In a way.

Obsessive, controlling, tyrannical way, to be exact.

 

oOo

April turned to May with sparse showers and shrub of oleander in the corner of the courtyard blossoming with brilliant pink flowers.

Before his excursion to Chad, Bane stopped by to see the progress on the manuscript. He walked in on Helena leaning out of the window.

In a second he was at her back.

"What are you doing?", he growled.

She didn't seem fazed.

"Why is the moon still visible? It's like, what, nine in the morning? Surely, it should have set a few hours back, right?"

He allowed himself to relax a notch. Hooked his palms at the collar of vest, cocked his head to the side. "Why do you think that?"

"Because the Moon rises when the sun sets, duh." She retreated back, sat by the desk.

"Does it, now?" Bane strolled to his usual spot, leaned on the wall. "How long does it take the moon to orbit the Earth?"

What am I doing? he asked himself furtively.

"Wha…" She knitted her brows. "Around thirty days, yes? A month."

"Nearly a month, correct. Now, how long does it take for Earth to move around its axis?"

"A day," she said, hesitating for a second. "Oh, I see where you're going with this," she mumbled.

"Can you reach the conclusion yourself?"

"Well I don't know, can I?" she teased. Added almost immediately, "Check me."

Bane nodded, waiting.

"So we have the Earth here," she placed a cup of water in the middle of her desk, "And the soon here." Jar of ink joined the pot. "Earth spins constantly around itself, and all the while Moon moves around it. So, every time we spin, the moon ends up in a slightly different position in the sky than before, right?"

"Correct."

"And still, it moves forward even as we do, but slower. So we, as a point on the globe, essentially spin past it at a pace of Ferrari when the moon just strolls around us in comparison." She leaned back in her chair, astonished with the simplicity of the explanation. "Wait, that explains the position, but not why Moon is visible during the day."

"How is it visible at night?"

"Reflects the light of the sun…"

Bane nodded solemnly, staring at her, expectant.

"Is it as simple as that?" she gasped.

"Yes, it is."

"But if the sun is up, it's so bright you can't even see the stars!"

"Moon is closer to the Earth than any star. Including Sun."

"Oh, I see," she seemed both underwhelmed and amazed.

He turned back to the door.

"Thank you for explaining that to me."

A nod.

"Wait, so is the moon always visible during the day, provided it's high enough over the horizon?"

"Think on it, observe, find the answer yourself. You can tell me when I will return."

"How long will you be gone?"

The door shut close with a gentle tug.

When he did come back three weeks later, she plagued him with questions on the things she saw on starry nights.

He caught himself smiling, while explaining why and how was it possible for Venus to look like a bright star beside the moon*.

Past week spent on negotiating protection for uranium mine in Niger washed away like a bad dream.

 

oOo

Nib glided effortlessly, albeit carefully, on a creamy page. Streak of ebony flowed into letters, distinct and bold. The contents of the manuscript foreign, compiled ages ago in a now dead language, were pure form. Simple, elegant cut of miniscule, sometimes adorned with understated illumination. Everything to the point.

Exquisite.

"I was thinking of adding some gold leaf on the details. A speck of blue and red here and there on every page as it is, but something more substantial with a little flourish at beginning of every chapter." A pause. "What do you think, Bane?"

He reluctantly tore his eyes from Helena's handiwork. Paced through the room, mulling over the thought.

"Make a sample, then I will decide."

"Sure," she smiled graciously. "Whatever you desire, I'll deliver." Turned back to work.

He was momentarily taken aback. It was an act, empty words for her, of course, but the sentence resonated in his chest with a very fresh memory.

Leaning comfortably on the wall by the door, he turned full attention to his little captive.

She appeared demure. Played along, was pleasant and nice towards his men and himself. Never raised her voice. Asked all the right questions, and never, but once, lost her temper.

But he knew there were always layers of pretence that hid anger, bitterness, and resentment. He knew from experience how a person would bury everything that could not be seen, only to release it in a white-hot eruption of cleansing rage.

He wanted to witness that.

He wanted to provoke it.

Deliberately, he moved towards her, footfalls vibrating with resolve through the floor.

Hand holding the pen stilled mid-air.

He leaned on outstretched hands on the desk, right behind her, crowding her with his imposing frame. "Continue with your work."

He pretended to watch her write.

Arms tense, she resumed her task. Absentmindedly, her left palm tangled in her hair, toying with its kinked length. Her hand was steady and precise on vellum, filled row after row of text with well-trained moves. It seemed almost reflexive, muscle memory, an ingrained action.

But he knew how easily affected her work could be by myriad moods she went through.

She reached a point where the sentence finished with an emphasis. Changing her pen, she straightened briefly to survey the proportions of the sheet.

The movement pushed her snuggling against Bane's chest. Immediately, she shied away.

"Sorry," she mumbled, tips of her ears reddening.

Bane angled his head, so that he could see her face.

"You're blocking the light," she glanced at him quickly, but averted her gaze just as fast.

"Yes."

"Nevermind."

When he finally straightened, she visibly sighed.

He smirked. "You seem tense."

Her back stiffened in response.

"Lay down your pen," he ordered.

To his surprise, she did, after only a brief glance back. "Why?"

"You seem to have a persistent kink in your back." His palms landed on her right shoulder. "It's affecting your writing when you don't take breaks at regular intervals or when you're tense for whatever reason."

Thick fingers started working on her flesh.

Her body eased into his touch. He kneaded precisely, skilfully, applying pressure to tendons and clusters of muscles behind her shoulder blade to work out the ball of stress that settled there. She sat limply, letting him do this, surprising him again. Bane expected a discussion at least, some form of defiance, or maybe even a short wrestle.

He almost let himself believe she enjoyed it.

When his palms left her, he thought he heard the softest sigh of content.

"Thank you."

He nodded, not caring she couldn't see him.

Split second longer than necessary he fixated on the back of her neck, innocently peeking out from behind the lace of her hair.

It was good he had to get back to West Africa soon.

 

oOo

 

The day was rainy. Tips of the mountains seemed to slice through bellies of clouds, bringing downpour on their little perch between the rocks. Valley below was flushed with rivers of water.

Mug of tea in hand and hot water bottle at her back, Helena inhaled the fragrant, humid air deeply into her lungs. She pulled up the blanket rolling stubbornly off her shoulder.

She did get her knife, and needles, and other sharp tools. After two months. Work was progressing smoothly at last.

Out of habit she reached out for the manuscript, but stopped in the middle of a gesture. Bane let himself be convinced to get proper boxes, airtight, cushioned and resilient, for storage. One specifically for the manuscript, other for her copy, and then two more for pages in progress and blank skins. So the book stayed safely hidden from the moisture and unnecessary exposure to sunlight, while she worked out on paper illuminations adequate for the chapter she was currently compiling.

Another thing he finally agreed on.

With help from a dictionary she was slowly deciphering some of the sentences, but the idea behind the book still eluded her, shrouded in complicated grammar and hermetic language of the author. A handicap, but nothing she couldn't overcome. With or without help.

She contemplated emulating cover piece inspired by Flammarion Engraving, sketching idly.

Roar of an engine stole her attention. She got up from the desk, moved to the window. Leaning on the frame peeked out on the courtyard.

Froze in the middle of a swig of lukewarm tea.

Mother and child, the prisoners abducted with her, were being led to the car.

Away.

Out.

Bane's words from two months ago rung with discordant note in her mind.

She did feel comfortable here, at his compound.

Her world shrunk to the window, room, and corridor. Intermittent visits from Bane and daily work. Like a mule on a treadmill. No immediate worries, clear path to go, rock solid boundaries to adhere to. Blind to everything around.

She swallowed heavily, her lungs constricted with an exhale right after, leaving a sharp pang in her chest.

A prisoner, and willing at that.

Despicable.

She couldn't let herself carry on like this.

But what to do?

She slept through the rest of the day, plagued by images of an eternity in the monastery, with a library of books to copy.

 

oOo

 

All her life Helena read about daring jailbreaks, deliberate efforts to get back to freedom. Tunnels, bribes, all kinds of favours… No one ever told her the only thing she would have to do to run away would be just waiting for an opportune moment.

The only question was - could she seize it?

She bit her lip raw, contemplating her next move with familiar, coppery taste of fresh blood on her tongue.

It looked so simple. Her door was unlocked. The guard forgot to bolt it after her trip to the bathroom, eager to get to his friends on the courtyard for an afternoon smoke. He was the only one who had a habit like this - every other guard stood watch in her corridor for the whole shift. Even if she could hear light snoring, they were always there.

Since it was Friday, she expected there to be a truck with supplies waiting somewhere. And there was new moon, so the night ahead would be even darker than usual. Still, even during the day the light was sparse. It was cloudy, rain had been falling almost ceaselessly for the last three days.

And who knew if there would be another second during next months as favourable towards escape as this.

So she grabbed her jacket, put on an extra shirt and a dark scarf, along with her driving gloves. Laced her boots tightly.

Well-oiled hinges did not squeak as she stalked to the corridor.

First stage of her journey she knew by heart - the walk she took at least twice daily towards bathrooms. She fought to keep her breath steady, posture relaxed. Sneaking around like a cartoon character wouldn't help in blending in. She needed to be brisk and purposeful, if her experience from hours spent playing stealth video games were any indicator. Eye reacts to unexpected, so she would walk steady. No lingering. Using anything and everything along the way to her advantage.

Stepping down the stairs, ears straining to catch and process all sounds at once, she nearly walked right into a group of chatting men. Her guard was among them. She didn't understand the language they were using, but all seemed at ease. Jovial.

Right, since Bane went out of the compound some three days earlier with the hostages, he must have still been away.

When cat's away, the mouse will play.

And this particular little mouse was set on going home.

She manoeuvred herself around the group using crates left under the arcades as a cover. Moved around the corner without checking if the way was clear. Luckily, no one was there. She was in a small courtyard, one adjacent to the main one, the same she visited when Bane took her out shooting. On the opposite side was a small walled building, emitting delicious smell. Kitchen, most probably. From behind the closed door she could hear voices - women laughing, men lively bantering.

She looked around.

Beside the gate stood the Jeep she remembered from her excursion. It felt like an eternity passed since those first days. Right beside the Jeep was a truck. The kind with tarpaulin stretched on the back. The kind one could easily sneak into - like in the movies.

She did just that.

Nothing prepared her for the nerve wracking extent of time required for a driver to unglue from his friends and get back to work. She found a spot at the far back, tucked herself cozily behind empty crates. Not directly by the driving booth, in case sound in the truck was carried better than she supposed.

That would have to do. She sat and waited.

Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed.

Nothing.

She nearly started to untuck herself, to peek out and see if anything changed in the courtyard when the faint voices from outside increased in volume. Women's chatter died out, but men’s rumbling words shuffled closer. Her guard’s group?

Her palms started to sweat profusely.

What if she would be discovered? What if at this moment, Bane would come back only to see her dragged out of the truck? He had been civil enough, even more than she could reasonably expect a kidnapper and a mercenary to be. They had a deal. And she was running away.

She thought frantically on her options, processing every possible outcome of her hasty decision.

Maybe it would be better if she found her way back to the cell?

The voices inched closer still. She smelled tobacco in the air. The light was slowly dying, darkening the inside of the truck further into grotesque play of shadows. For a second she feared the walls would really be painted red - with her blood - instead of only being tinted by sunset.

The tarpaulin rustled as someone hopped into the truck.

Crates squeaked and squealed.

Please, go away…, she thought.

Another two minutes of the tension, the engine roared to life, and miraculously, after few shouts the extra passenger hopped off.

Palpable wave of relief washed through her bones.

The truck rolled out of the paved entryway and down the dirt road.

It worked?

She let a glimmer of hope blossom into a burst of joy.

It worked!

Helena moved cautiously closer to the entrance of the truck. The material closing it was strapped to the frame, but not very tightly, allowing her minute peeks outside. She fought the urge to unbind the cord. There was no telling if the guards of the compound could still see her. It was best to wait, either for Sun to set completely, or for the truck to get significantly farther from the monastery.

She didn't dare trying too soon.

From what she could recollect of three trips she took up and down the mountain, at one point there should be a brook, or a stream with some trees nearby. She imagined a paved bridge, rising in a gentle arch above the water.

She could get off there.

Flow of the stream would guide her, trees give shelter.

She peeked out gingerly. Sky got dark faster than she anticipated.

Nimbly she worked on the knots, breaking two nails in her agitation. She could smell freedom in the air, along with foliage and moisture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Go to apod.nasa.gov, entry for May 23rd 2007. Beautiful picture.
> 
> If you don't know that site, you miss out!


	6. No Big Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo!
> 
> I was going to post on Friday, but my cat almost died. I'm still a little shaken.
> 
> Thanks again ThreeDots for your vigilance. I may have, or may have not, done that on purpose... ;)
> 
> A little disclaimer before we start - wherever I place it, remember I do not condone Bane's military actions. Everything here is fictional, anyway.
> 
> BTW, did anyone realise yet, the siege of Gotham was supposedly happening in Fall 2016? Just sayin'...
> 
> Enjoy the read. :)

Everyone and their dog climbed a tree in their childhood, it seemed.

Arms giving out, toes sliding on slippery bark, Helena revisited that statement.

Has she ever actually climbed a tree?

Her mind teemed with half-remembered, half-invented memories, amalgams of movies, stories and actions she witnessed.

Did she do any of it, though?

Gritting her teeth, she tried going up again. Finally, she found purchase with her feet, pushed on ignoring burn in her fingers. After an exhausting climb, she settled on a thick juncture of two branches shooting out of the trunk.

She stiffened as an unmistakeable roar of bikes swooshed past somewhere near. They were looking for her.

Leaves rattled in the rain, and she shivered, determined to wait out rest of the night and possibly most of the coming morning above the forest floor. Then, using her no doubt excellent vantage point, she would inspect possible routes to take, maybe she would even find a source of food and clean water.

Using her belt to strap her middle to one of the branches, she decided to rest.

Thick canopy shielded her from the downpour. There was no moon, clouds hid the stars, so she let the thick blanket of darkness envelop her, raindrops gradually lulling her to sleep.

 

oOo

 

The job in Yemen was debilitating. Rebel leaders were weak, government troops uninterested in what was happening right under their noses, government in general running rampant through its enemies - a group of rebels. In fact just an opposing political party. As a temporary instrument of that rampage, Bane and his men waded through villas and villages alike in rivers of blood. His mercenaries could track anyone down, but he terrorized the masses just to flush out three groups he was tasked with killing.

It was pitifully easy. There was no honour, no loyalty in the people towards the rebels fighting for their supposed good. To Bane they all seemed like cattle, herded left and right by opposing forces, with no apparent will of their own. No desire to give up an ounce of false peace in exchange for acquiring permanent stability and safety for their children. Suffering civil war for generations.

Boots thinking on metal grate making up the floor of the plane he strolled over to pilots to supervise the landing. His mind wandered idly, bouncing off of his last thought.

Peaceful life seemed impossible, a mere fantasy from his point of view. A clichéd book ending. His little captive argued pointlessness of working towards ambitious goals. He shrugged it off, initially, but the sentiment stirred something inside him nonetheless.

Life in the Pit went day by day, far from peaceful, with one purpose to every action - to escape, eventually. When Talia got out, he was at peace with dying right there. He almost did. Every day after was a torture of constant physical pain and hope for his little girl.

He prayed to deities he didn't believe in for one of short stabs of torment to just knock him out, then for some other inmate to do him in. For the pleasure of it. Clean.

Every hour he dreaded myriad dangers waiting for a defenceless child in the world above. Even though he made sure she was strong, prepared. Hungry for life neither she, nor Bane ever knew, only glimpsed in books and tales of other inmates.

He let himself tumble down into the void of grief. Only this one time in his life.

But then, Ducard came. Talia waited on top of the chasm. He was taken care of, his pain shrouded in painkillers fuelled his anger, anger was given direction.

When he was cast away, he felt almost relieved. Building his reputation as a mercenary, commanding instant respect with his attitude and formidable previous history with the League of Shadows, he found himself a niche. Thrived. Managed even to see Talia from time to time.

The stability of his situation gave him pause.

Was it possible he was unwittingly following the same ambition he so recently abhorred in so called ordinary people?

Granted, his means to the conclusion were a little more than extreme, but in the end what he most treasured were all those moments that made him feel satisfied. His work - at his whim balancing powers in this rotten world. His hobby - giving him peace after hours. His men - depending on him to give them direction.

The realization soured his mood. Immediately, he started cataloguing philosophy books he would have at hand when he returned at the compound.

Back at home, he almost thought.

He planned to make some notes on the drive to the monastery, but as soon as they touched down and radio contact was established, he got a message.

Helena had run away.

 

oOo

 

Cold woke her at dawn, icy pinpricks of moisture permeating her clothes. She opened her eyes with a start, reflexively grabbing the trunk as she moved. It took several seconds for her heart to settle back to its normal peace.

It greyed, pillars of trees around her slowly emerged from the darkness. She glanced down. Yesterday's concentration paid out - she discovered the distance to the ground was definitely greater than she initially anticipated in dim light of the dusk.

It was high enough to make her legs stiffen involuntarily.

Everyone would probably assume she wanted to run as far away as possible, as soon as she could. So maybe, it was more cunning to stay close by, biding her time. Then, when the search undoubtedly would move to the outer rims of the region, she would climb down and find her way to safety.

Looked like there would be a long, tedious day ahead of her.

Waiting drained her resolve as the day progressed. She winced and jumped at every noise louder than rattling of the leaves. From time to time, she caught herself humming softly under her breath. Each time, her palm flew to her mouth; as if stifling the last sound could erase all the others before it.

Some two hours into the morning, her ears picked up on whirr and hum of car engines nearby. They passed her somewhere on her right, where the road from the monastery ought to be. Around midday the sounds returned from the other way, again passing her part of the forest without stopping.

In the afternoon the shower returned, darkening the day earlier than usual, to the point of emulating quite convincingly bleak greyness of the dawn.

It would be probably good time to get back down, she thought, shivering.

But the branches were slippery with water.

And the ground was so far away.

She could endure another two hours, until real darkness comes, she mused, tightening the scarf around her neck.

 

oOo

 

Bane's immense chest felt hollow, as if air was rushed out of him in an instant.

"Report," he encouraged his man on the other side of the radio.

"The guard left his post. Anywhere from ten to thirty minutes passed between the time he last saw her, and the moment he realized she was not in her cell. There was a delivery, so she must have gone on the van. We had it checked, found some traces of her in the trunk. The owner is in our custody, denies any involvement. She must have dropped off somewhere on the road. Our men in nearby towns are notified, but so far there is no trace of her. Search parties are covering the area, fanning from the road to the villages."

"She alighted into the night without gear or provisions?"

"That's what we suspect. Unless there was an accomplice. Nothing was displaced in her cell, apart from a reasonable amount of clothes she had to wear on herself.

"I see," he severed the connection without another word.

Time to hunt.

He spent the ride from makeshift airstrip mulling over new information. He had several ideas considering her hideouts and routes, was certain either he or his men would find her.

Eventually.

Her amiable bearing day to day lulled them all into thinking her meek, resigned to her fate. A mistake. He should have known there was no renouncing of search for freedom, even after years, even if you were never allowed to feel it in the first place. The idea of escaping seemed ingrained in everybody, festering minds, pouring hope into miserable, shrunken souls of inmates. What would mere three months mean in comparison to eons he himself had spent trapped, still dreaming of getting to the surface? Even broken shells of men deluded themselves with fantasies of freedom.

She was still far from breaking.

The car stopped several times at his command as they got closer to the compound, his men inspecting the surroundings for any sign of the runaway.

Fat raindrops plopped heavily on the windows, the wipers soundlessly pushing them aside, making room for new ones. SUVs breached the threshold of the forest, the one closest to the monastery. Even through the mask, Bane smelt distinct whiff of wet foliage mixed with dirt. Cars climbed narrow bridge thrown over a stream.

He smiled.

Of course.

How could they find her in villages nearby, if she never stepped a foot in there?

"Stop," he commanded. Following his lead, everyone but the drivers got out of the cars again. "Search the thicket."

He pointed nonchalantly towards the trees over the other side of the bridge.

 

oOo

She should have gotten down while she still had the forest to herself.

At first, the sound of boots crunching on fallen leaves and twigs seemed only like an increased frequency of raindrops. But it was getting steadily louder, more distinct - and closer.

They were coming for her.

She glued herself to the tree, hugging the trunk in an effort to seem as small as possible. If she stayed quiet there was no way they would notice her, especially in the rain. Her fingers gripped the bark even tighter, when her ears picked up a very characteristic thump of heavy footfalls. She knew who they belonged to. She knew he was deliberate in being this obnoxiously loud. She knew he did it to intimidate her.

Fuck, did it work.

 

oOo

Bane stomped on, accompanied by light footed, quieter men. Letting them pass he paused, his eyes drawn to one particular tree. He wasn't the only one to notice long gashes of missing bark under one particularly lofty canopy.

Behind the mask, an ugly, malicious grin crawled on his lips.

"Miss Wolf," he started, arms open wide towards the sky in a benevolent gesture, "It seems you have reached an end to your little excursion rather prematurely. As we do have a business agreement I would like to encourage you to reveal yourself before you are discovered." He paused, eyes blinking rapidly in the falling rain, looking up at the tree before him. "You have five seconds to avert any consequence I would deem fit to befall you after that time."

Pause.

"Four."

Nothing.

"Three."

His men gathered closer.

"Two."

The only sounds surrounding him were general rustle of forest and swoosh of falling water. "One," Cheerful, then solemn, "Very well."

He looked over after he finished speaking. Nodded at Marco, a dark-haired Italian, who used to guard Helena before Bane utilized his talents in recent jobs. The man eagerly shed his outer gear, checking his knife. Unstrapped it with a slight frown after Bane shook his head in silent denial. Without dropping a beat, Marco circled the tree, looking for a possible route up.

He got halfway there, turned his head back to mercenaries below.

"She's here," he confirmed.

"Take her down," Bane unhooked his left hand from the collar of his vest, gestured lazily and turned around. "Put her in my car."

He didn't have to wait long.

The door opened and Helena was shoved in unceremoniously, looking definitely worse for wear. She flinched violently when the door was slammed shut. Holding her arms around her chest, she squeezed herself in the corner of a seat.

One sparse glance in the rear-view mirror from Bane, and the cavalcade started on their way again.

He let the silence stretch. Uncertainty visibly upset the woman, increasingly with each passing second. She shook, eyes wandering anywhere, but to him. He noted bruises blossoming on her throat. A shallow scratch, oozing blood.

Finally he moved, bracing one hand on the top of the backseat, his other palm resting casually on Helena's thigh.

"Was your little expedition enjoyable?"

Her gaze shot up, boring into his eyes with admirable strength.

"Extremely," she hissed through gritted teeth.

There it was, the glimpse of her true self. But it was gone in an instant, shrouded in false facade of cowardice.

His eyes crinkled, a tell-tale sign of a smile under the mask. "I hope the memory was worth it."

Before she had a chance to retort, his right hand slipped down her leg. Her eyes widened, jumping between his palm and face. Without any warning he gripped her calf, her tibia right under the ball of his hand.

He squeezed.

The pain must have overwhelmed her, as the bone snapped.

Reflexively, her hands shot up to grab his arm, feebly trying to stop the vice-like grip. She screamed. Her eyes overflowed with tears, as she stared at him with disbelief. The tibia was one of the most resilient bones in human body, but her delicate cartilage was no match for his strength.

She whimpered, nails breaking as she dug them harder into coarse fabric of his jacket.

Bane lingered.

The way she clung to him, drunk on pain, barely coherent, was improper in its intimacy. Raw emotions in her eyes, so close to his own, brought back ghosts of his own experiences. Shadow of sensations he once felt, before the drugs took away his weakness.

He was almost embracing her, riding together through intense vibes of misery rocking her body. Letting go of her leg, he angled her head back with his left palm, pulling on her hair.

Blinking rapidly, she focused on him. Her breath fluttered erratically.

He loomed over, mask nearly brushing her face.

"You're my property."

Her eyes hardened, through the pain started ebbing on her resolve even as it solidified.

"No."

His eyebrows shot up. It almost seemed his eyes twinkled above the mask. "Oh, but you are. I can punish you for your insubordination however I see fit."

"So you break my leg, so I won't be able to run away, ever again. Right," she practically spat the last word. "Its human nature, Bane. It's natural to at least attempt getting back to freedom."

What was visible of his face darkened with malice.

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

She whined a small laugh, her forehead beaded with sweat. "Don't I know how it feels being held against my will? Not seeing the world besides a small glimpse I get through the window? Doing only what is allowed, when it's allowed? Being constantly monitored?"

"You think pity will get you anywhere? I was born in prison, molded by it. I didn't see the world until I was a man-"

"Who's playing the pity card now?" She knew that was foolish. She didn't care.

He snarled, pinning her to the window by the throat. The movement twisted her leg, blinding her again for an endless moment with pain.

"You're alive only because I took pity on you three months ago. Don't forget for a second that only a flick of my hand stands between you and death," he growled.

"Why are you so tied to the idea of me staying on your compound, hmm?" Panted harshly, through gritted teeth. "Kill me if you really want to. Spare the speech." She whimpered as his hand tightened in response to her taunt.

"The fact I'm going back is the biggest punishment anyway."

His hand left her throat.

 

oOo

 

Bane swiped his fingers over a film of dust on the desk, testing its thickness.

The room was small, but well lit. Only window faced the courtyard, catching most of the sunrays during the day. Bane could see his tower, if only partially. On his right was an efficient workplace, complete with a drawing desk, tall block of shelves and a chair. Opposite wall had a bed tucked neatly in the corner, other than that there was only enough space for a simple chest of drawers and another chair. It was tidy, every tool put away in place, bed neatly made, chairs pushed snugly towards desk and wall. He glanced at the boxes he himself brought to store the vellum in. Pigments in clear bottles he chose, extra colours added to Helena's picks by a whim. Rows of brushes, of shapes and sizes he didn't even know existed. Tools as exotic as claw-like pieces of agate set on a long metal handle. Whatever was that for?

He opened the window. Throbbing summer heat assaulted him at once, sunrays milder without the lens of a windowpane. His own windows were visible, and he remembered the few times he'd caught a glimpse of the scribe. Working. Changing clothes. Eating. Looking out on the courtyard. Looking up into the sky.

Looking for him in his windows.

The escape stung. He'd tell himself at first it was because of the manuscript. He did want the book finished. But then, last days showed him how he craved all those little titbits of normalcy Helena showered him with without second thought. He missed their conversations.

So, when he heard the news, his first instinct was to feel betrayed.

She didn't really want to run away, he reasoned with himself. She struggled with her situation, her mind supplying the most obvious, straightforward definitions. Reacted instinctively in an opportune moment, because her self-worth relied on constructs imbued into her head from infancy.

He just needed to rebuild her mind. Carve a place for her to think freely.

The first step would have to be recovering the connection they had, severed by her misstep. Then he would keep her, working for him. For a time. Then, maybe, he'd let her go. If she wanted to leave his protective presence.

Leaving the room, he had an energetic spring in his gait.

He could almost see his future library.

 

oOo

 

Rain was comforting. The water drizzled away in a steady hum, drumming softly on windowsills. Mercenaries huddled in small groups under arcades, sharing conversations over cigarettes. It was almost comfortable. Cozy, if not for the fact her leg was in a cast, pulsating with pain.

They've put her back in the basement cell. She didn't remember going there. The agony of someone fiddling with her leg brought her around. Of course, no one said a word to her.

Her lips stretched in a bitter smile.

At least she attempted an escape. She tried.

Using the downtime to meditate, she settled her mind over what happened. The guard who let her escape was killed. She saw his body being dragged through the courtyard.

It was weird, someone's death as an afterthought of her action.

She didn't feel responsible.

Her snapped bone was set, put in a cast. Everything around revolved unobstructed still, just as it was before.

Bane visited her over a week after.

Helena looked up, as he stood on the other side of the bars, with his arms folded, staring her down. She remained as she were, sitting, healthy leg bent under her, on the mattress.

"Do you ever feel like this is all pointless?"

He didn't suppress one brow arching inquiringly. "My goals are imperishable."

"Is that so?" She stretched her spine with an audible crack. "I'm sure lawmakers of Hammurabi thought so as well. Builders of Pyramids. Philosophers and politicians…"

"And they succeeded."

"What of it, though? We mention them in passing, never really appreciating their accomplishments."

"Does your rambling have a point?"

"Not to you, I guess."

He turned around.

She allowed herself a parting backstab. "They've all become kings of ruins and rulers of ghosts."

His fingers drummed on his thigh.

She wondered why he restrained himself.

 

oOo

Another week passed, a mirror of the one before.

Helena was calm, but not resigned to her fate. Expectant. She knew Bane wanted the manuscript finished, otherwise he'd hurt her more than just symbolically. Everyone on the compound had a reason to be there. When usefulness ended the person was also - gone. Dead or otherwise removed.

No one, but hostages, were idle.

As it was, she was fit to work. If only he'd let her back into her old room.

She wore her certainty like battle armour, going through the motions of everyday routine. No books were granted to ease the wait this time, so she filled hours between meals with observing life behind the bars.

There was a guard that caught her eye. Not aesthetically - she had James to ogle at - but rather with his role on the compound.

He seemed to always be there, almost like a second in command. There was odd familiarity about him that made her somewhat like the man, despite the fact she only observed him through the window.

He seemed a creature set in his ways. In the mornings she saw him only if she leaned out to look towards the refractory. He always stood with a group of friends, laughing, listening. If he talked, everyone seemed to stop their rambling. Not in fear though, but out of interest. The engagement of his listeners was evident, even from a distance.

Most of his days were spent in the chapel, often she saw him strolling out of there with Bane, engrossed in a conversation. He disappeared completely on evenings.

His demeanour wasn't frantic, but he always seemed somewhat hurried. Every move served a purpose, but still he seemed to be fidgeting. She thought him somewhat aviary. There was a birdlike tilt of his head, like a tick, unconscious. His limbs were frail and long, seemed much more so in contrast with chiselled, battered physique of other mercenaries. Even his head with its long nose and high forehead, reclining even further with disappearing hairline, seemed less like a man's and more resembling the skulls often found lying around in antique bookshops. He often hid his slender fingered hands in multiple pockets of his coat, its flowing lapels fanning behind him as he strode with measured steps across the courtyard.

She couldn't pinpoint his role in the operation.

There were people, like her guards, who she just knew must have been soldiers or guerrilla fighters before they became mercenaries. Well-rounded warriors. Operatives, as modern military called them. They carried themselves with confidence of strength stemming from their bodies.

In the depths of the chapel was another kind of men. Still physically capable, they were definitely less defined, seemed more inclined towards perfecting one specific task. Specialists. Her doctor, the one who put cast on her leg, was one of the people she saw there.

But Bane seemed to want to blur the lines between the two, constantly mixing them together, apparently giving both tasks to promote well-rounded growth. Grotesque interpretation of ancient Greek ideals.

The birdman stood out like a sore thumb. Yet, he seemed indispensable, with the amount of attention given to him by Bane.

And he never left the compound.

Helena was intrigued.

 

oOo

 

On the last day of June, they allowed her to get back to her room.

Everyday routine from before was only marginally influenced by her broken limb. She got out of bed a bit more sluggishly. Trek to the bathroom was tedious and painful. Taking a shower took her twice as long, so in numerous instances she didn't have enough time to finish more than just rudimentaries.

Strangely enough, she worked with renewed vigour. Apart from discomfort of the shattered bone and the usual cramp in her shoulder, she felt fine. Lines flowed as effortlessly as ever, neatly transferring from nibs to vellum. Gold gliding didn't clump on the brush. Pigments mixed smoothly.

She didn't feel relaxed, but everything around her clicked just right. Kept her mind in a fragile balance.

Bane stopped visiting her at all.

She still saw him around the compound.

Without her notice sometimes she focused on his silhouette crossing the courtyard. She knew the sound of his steps - if he chose to make a sound, that is. She knew the rumble of his voice, but that was always unmistakable with its modulation and distortion from the mask. She knew he would tell her trivia about the second Full Moon in past month. She knew how he would deliver his knowledge with only questions, extracting the facts from her head she didn't even realize were there.

She missed their talks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, then. :)
> 
> Next chapter "There is no charm equal to the tenderness of heart". Yes, that is quote by Jane Austen. Will post don't know when, because there are two parts I still didn't finish. Usually I post only after the next instalment is ready for spellcheck... But this one is a tough one.


	7. There is No Charm Equal to the Tenderness of Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo!
> 
> It took me a while longer to bring you the newest instalment of "The Scribe and the Beast", but it's here! Thanks a thousand times to ThreeDots for her unparalleled dedication in removing unnecessary commas. You're awesome, mate!
> 
> Okay, on with the show!
> 
> (And as before - asterisks explained at the end)

There was a commotion on the courtyard. 

The men gathered in a circle, hastily pushing boxes and vehicles obstructing the way to the side. Their shouts echoed up the stone walls, accompanied by clapping and whistling. After a short while they added stomping on the ground to the mix, creating a cacophony of sound in relatively small space. 

All stopped when Bane appeared at the entrance to the chapel. He cut a marvellous figure in his battle regalia. Even on a bad day, he was an imposing sight to see. Now, clad in padded bulletproof vest, with brace on his midsection bulking him up even more he looked fearsome. The mask, stretching over mountain of muscle and power, was an extravagant addition, heightening the sense of danger he radiated even from afar. 

Just as he took his first step, surveying the people around him, the noise resumed. He rewarded a few mercenaries with curt nods of acknowledgement. Before long the noise grew a bit more organized. Rhythmic, primal melody emerged from movements of mercenaries standing in a circle. 

Bane stopped at the centre. He opened his arms wide, and turned, the gesture at once welcoming and mocking. Forward came three young men, boys really. Their heads bowed, all fumbled frantically tightening their gear. They seemed like parts of one, if dissected, body, both afraid and ready to fight. 

The masked man waited. 

The music rose and quickened in a deafening crescendo.

Simultaneously, everyone stopped their movements.

The boys lunged at Bane.

Helena gasped. Their movements were fluid and unbelievably fast, almost blurred. Paved ground was speckled with drops of blood in a matter of seconds.

They never had a chance. She suspected they knew it, but were tested towards their readiness in a fight. She observed as Bane nonchalantly snapped bones in hands of one of his assailants. Concussed other with a throw. Menacingly stomped towards the last, smeared with blood from minor wounds they were able to inflict.

The boy cowered, tried to get away. Mercenaries gathered in a circle didn’t allow him to run, but neither did they push him towards Bane.

Helena waited with baited breath. Was it a strategy to find a point most advantageous for another lunge? Stalling for time, to get his guts back?

Bane inched closer, cautious despite his overwhelming dominance.

In the end, the boy only prolonged his demise. In a flash Bane gripped his neck, throttling him in an instant. He turned to talk to his men. His amplified voice boomed in the narrow space between the buildings.

Helena shuffled to her bed and heaved a heavy sigh as she plopped down on the mattress.

She just watched someone die, and felt nothing at all at the sight.

She did feel satisfied when Bane won.

The realization made her nauseous with guilt.

 

* * *

* * *

  
  


Visits from Bane resumed suddenly, as if there wasn’t any change to them. As if she didn’t try to run away. One day he just waltzed in, leaned in his spot by the door. Watched her work in silence, and left after ten minutes.

Next day, he started the same, but this time decided to talk.

“What does merit a virtuous life?”

Helena straightened, nib millimetres above the surface of the sheet, eyes pensively distant. Cunning fucker. It was obvious she couldn’t stop herself from a discussion like this. He knew. She knew. He knew that she knew.

Ass.

“That depends on how you define virtue, doesn’t it?”

“A man dedicates himself to a vocation. He breathes his work. Wakes up every day to spend hours doing only that one thing.”

Expectant silence.

“Does he neglect other aspects of his life? Hygiene? Nourishment? Physical or intellectual activity?,” she inquired.

“He fulfils them all to the best of his abilities and means.”

Penholder securely put away, she twisted in her seat to face Bane, forearms set on the backseat.

“Then I would say that he is close to virtuous, at least by Aristotelian measure.”

“Even, if he’s an assassin, a person killing people for a living?”

“Aristotelian ideal was a soldier. The civilian would never reach true virtue of courage in his eyes. I guess the assassin is closer to that ideal than I am. In a sense, he knows real fear, understands dread and, hopefully, that enables him to value more the life that he still has.”

“So you would excuse a killer.”

“No, I merely state that he’s a killer living virtuously. Still a killer. But probably happy, which is more than I can say for most of the people I know.”

His chest rumbled in an amused huff.

Undaunted, she pressed on. “Since you asked me about virtue, tell me this - what constitutes a happy life? Gratifying one. Satisfactory. Fulfilling.”

“Pride in what you do can lead to satisfaction,” he started, pensively. “But that doesn’t mean the person is happy. Hmm… Calmness, I would say. Unfaltering certainty of one's convictions.”

“Yes, but how do you achieve that calmness? Is the road to achieve it the happiness one seeks or maybe happiness is a reward at the end of it?”

“Both.”

“Impossible.”

“How do you figure?”, he strolled over to the bed, sat down leaning elbows on his knees. Helena shifted again in her seat.

“Well, leaving happiness aside, if you pursue virtuous life, you have to constantly audit yourself. There is no end to that, because even the most uneventful life is full of choices, and how you choose to respond to what happens is what defines you as a person.”

“”You’re favouring the road over destination.”

“It does seem anticlimactic to reach your goal, doesn’t it?”

“No.”

“Oh,” pensively, she rubbed her chin. “Well, then. Seems you’re a very prudent man.”

“And prudence is the most important of virtues.”

She only smiled softly in response. The moment new argument entered her mind was clearly visible on her face. She beamed up.

“Ha! I just realized you are following a path to happiness anyway.”

“How do you figure?”

“You may think yourself stable and purpose oriented. However, even once you reach your goal, you’re still on a journey.”

Bane scoffed, “Because, even if I stand still, the world doesn’t stop.”

Helena responded with a smug smirk.

“You know, one might think you’re enjoying having the upper hand on me.”

“Oh, I’d never!” she gasped, in the most fake-sounding southern accent she could muster.

It was a bad try, but Bane huffed a laugh anyway.

“Indeed?”

“A virtuous man never lies,” she deadpanned.   
  


 

* * *

* * *

 

Having leg in a cast during sweltering summer heat was torture. The air was stagnant, stifling, like being under a blanket in the Sun. Helena missed her previous cell. Underground was probably much more pleasant, since it was halfway buried in the cool rock.

Her knee was itchy.

The cast was stretching from her foot all the way up to hipbone; there was no way she could do anything to ease the irritating urge to scratch. Trying to combat the incessant prickling, she buried fingers in her hair.

It's not itchy, it's not itchy, it's not itchy..., she tried to convince herself. The mantra only straightened the urge.

The door opened gently and a new guard, one of the boys that fought Bane, marched in with her lunch. He left the tray beside her on the desk. Helena regarded him from the corner of her eye.

“Hey, darlin’…,” she started.

He shot her a very unamused look. 

“Have you ever had any limb broken?” 

Impassive stare was her only answer.

“Right, of course you have, with your line of-,” she hesitated ostensibly, “Work and whatnot.“

He folded his arms carefully. Waiting. 

“Do you know what to do if there is an itch you cannot possibly reach?”

A smile. Nod.

“Oh, thank gods!“ she grinned back. “Can you help me?”

He stayed smiling, while shaking his head in negation.

“But why?”, she whined.

“The answer lies within yourself.” 

She gaped as he walked away, proud of himself, practically giggling. 

What a douche, she thought. Amazing, an almost grown man, a mercenary,  and he was behaving like an adolescent still, teasing her for having a cast. 

She smirked, thinking she was a hair width away from asking him to sign on it when he would be back for the tray. 

Come to think of it - why not? 

She was prepared when he came back in. Cast plopped on the stool in a way that made it impossible not to look at, she scribbled a tic tac toe grid on her knee. Right as he came in, she finished a shapely “x” right in the middle.

He grinned.

Two hours later her cast, and the boy’s arm were covered in scribblings. Helena was halfway into writing ‘Cogitationis poenam nemo patitur’* on the inner side of the boy's wrist, when the door opened quietly.

“What a lovely scene.” Unmistakeable voice had them both freezing in place. The guard tensed visibly, fear at once palpable in the air around him. Helena looked over at Bane, feigning nonchalance. 

“Good evening.”

“Good evening, Helena. Yuri.” The masked mercenary leaned in his usual spot by the door. The boy wanted to force his hand away, but one sentence from his leader stopped him in his tracks. “Let her finish.”

Bane eyed the inscription. Helena added some flourishes to the letters, ignoring slight shaking of her canvas. No going back now, so no point broiling in her own fear.

“There, done.” She smiled, as she put the cap on her sharpie. Bane bent slightly to inspect the result, shyly displayed by its owner. Yuri gulped as Bane nodded. Relief straightened boys back with newfound confidence. He looked at his arm. The Latin sentence was the crowning piece; space between his wrist and elbow was meticulously filled with intricately flowing lines, geometrical patterns and sparse floral ornaments.  

“Get back to your post,” Bane ordered.

Yuri eagerly started towards the exit. He had to swoop past the older man. When he reached the door, his shoulders heaved with a sigh.

“Remember what happened to your predecessor.”

The warning rung out as the door closed. Bane turned his attention back to the scribe.

“Do you enjoy putting my men at risk?”

She frowned. Twirled the pen in her hand.

“I have no obligations towards anyone here. How they react to the things I say and do is their own responsibility.”

“You have obligations towards me.”

“I do,” she nodded, after long while of looking into his eyes. Her lips curled in a smirk. “Speaking of you, you’re the only one that knows all the rules. I simply try to be nice.”

“You don’t try too hard.”

“That’s because I was born nice, so I’m good without trying.”

Fingers of his left hand drummed impatiently on his thigh. “I don’t want your niceties to interfere with work.”

Helena bit back a question she knew she wouldn’t get an answer to. Instead she swiped her gaze over his body, pensively narrowing her eyes. “No need to be jealous. I could design a tattoo for you too. It would suit you.”

He scoffed, turning away.

“I have no desire of marking my body that way.”

“Something in Latin, since you like showing people your superiority,” she continued, undaunted by his rejection.

He reached to the handle.

“Maybe ‘Per aspera ad astra’**?”

Bane stilled. His fingers caressed cold metal underneath, absentmindedly.

“Maybe, one day,” he murmured.

 

* * *

* * *

 

He went to see Talia in London. The trip was long overdue, as was their meeting. Ostensibly, she tended to her charity. He didn’t need a reason, but had his own motives anyway. 

They met in a little shop with art supplies near the British Museum. 

Talia glided inside, the disguise of Miranda Tate like a second skin, turning quite a few heads. She bee lined to Bane. Ogled fluffy ostrich feather he inspected. 

“Kinky,” she observed.

Forgetting the item in his hands, he gathered her close for a short hug. It was rare he let himself experience the world without his mask, rarer still he could leisurely spend time while doing so. All the more reason to treasure every second they were out together.

Talia hugged him back, then plucked the feather from his hands and tested its softness while pivoting to look around. 

“Why here?”

“I have an order to pick up.”

She arched her brows. Bane smiled, when her eyes narrowed.

“I have a little side project.”

He surprised her. 

The clerk called out his name, a ‘Mister Brown’ he was today, and as Bane returned to Talia, her face was as blank as ever. He knew she would extract every shred of information she wanted to have by the end of the day. 

She ran her fingers over pastels laid out in a shallow display case. Her fingers coloured with the dust.

“What do you fancy today? A stroll?,” she asked.

“Let’s have coffee.” Like ordinary people, he thought.

She smiled, sliding her delicate palm under his elbow, went out on the sun warmed pavement. Hordes of tourists swirled around them. They sat in the little shop with black sunshade, just behind the corner.

Talia ordered their drinks, slithered into the seat. For a while they just sat in silence.

“Doctor Porter is working on a new strand of Venom.” 

Bane stilled cup of cappuccino mid-air.

“Why?”

“He has this new assistant, a lovely little thing. A botanist. They believe they can tweak it to make constant supplying to the system redundant.”

Bane sipped his coffee pensively, trying to squash a glimmer of hope forming in his chest.

“The usual formula works just fine,” he lied.

“My friend, you don’t have to shield yourself from me.” Talia stroked his cheek. “I know how you treasure every second without the mask.“ Her eyes filled with regret when she looked at the scars on his cheek and jaw. “We can make it happen.”

He tilted his head, gently tugging her hand away. His face was just that - a trait he didn’t choose. He got over all his scars years ago. The fact she never did nagged him during times like these. 

“No matter,” she resolutely said. “Tell me about that little project of yours.”

The cup clinked as he put it back on the saucer. His lips stretched in a sly smile.

“I have a guest at the compound.”

“A willing one?”

“More or less. She’s a scribe.”

Talia giggled. “Poor thing. She must be exhausted with work.”

“She has only one thing to do. For now.”

“That little treasure of yours? When will you tell me what it is about?”

“Patience. It will be worthwhile.”

They smiled, switched subjects to Talia's plans. Bane enjoyed the sun for another thirty minutes.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Helena’s leg hurt. The cast was to be taken off after a little over a month, so there were still two weeks of torture ahead of her. She felt okay most of the time, but never did she forget her shin was injured. Especially in a moment like this when her body throbbed with pain. Tissue swelled, complained after only an hour of sitting in a chair. 

Everything seemed pointless. She couldn’t write. She couldn’t even sleep.

Back at home she’d just empty her fridge, filing her tummy to its considerable capacity, gorging on everything within reach to fill the metaphorical void inside with an easy satisfaction.

Here she could only sit, pace or stare out the window. She was fed up with mundane activities on the courtyard.

The sky was much more interesting sight, both frightening and exciting. The darkness here was so much deeper. Multitude of stars twinkled away in distant clusters. Firmament would stretch impossibly over her if she would get out on the battlements. 

But for her there was only the narrow glimpse she got out of her window. Squished between ragged mounds of the mountains and single tower stretching over the monastery.

The door opened.

Bane.

“Why aren’t you working?”

“Don’t feel like it.”

“Is that… advisable, in your situation?”

“I like to think I have a healthy work-life balance.”

“Achieved by drowning yourself in self-pity?”

“There’s nothing else left for me to do here. Eat, sleep, work, shit, piss. Rinse, repeat.” She sighed. “Self-pity is a nice change of pace.”

He stood there, silent. Helena wondered if he was at a loss. She shifted in her seat, the movement echoing unpleasantly from shoulder down through back to her leg. Grimace contorted her face.

“It’s too hot.”

“Would you believe we are actually furthest away we can be from the Sun?

“Would you believe I don’t care?” A lie. She reached up to paw at her shoulder. Stupid cramp. “Why are you still here? Enjoying my discomfort?”

“If I would, you’d be in different quarters.” He observed her calmly for another minute. “Lay down on the bed.”

Her head snapped up. “What for?”

“Do it or I’ll make you. You decide.” 

She switched to the bed, wobbling on her feet. 

“Take your top off.”

She paled. 

Bane closed in on her. Her head turned slightly towards him, body stiff with fear. Before she had a chance to say a word, his hands were on her. Surprisingly gentle.

“Lay down.” Gruff, but without malice.

As she did, he deftly bunched her top over her head. Unclasped hooks holding her underwear together. 

What was happening?, she thought frantically. She couldn’t fight him off even on the best of days. Now she was putty in his hands, awaiting whatever he wanted to dish out to her. Her throat constricted with blooming threat of panic overcoming her mind.

“Forehead on the pillow. Hands here.” He positioned her, as if on a massage table. 

Then, he proceeded kneading her muscles, slowly, surely. His hands were warm. Helena gritted her teeth when he worked on her shoulder. Hard, unrelenting until he released the knot. She groaned as the pressure finally lessened. When his palms shifted lower, she dared putting her hands up under her chin to rest more comfortably. 

Minutes passed as he worked in silence. Helena settled, relaxed. Enjoyed the treatment. She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. This turn of events was disturbing, but not at all unwelcome.

“You stare too much.”

She scoffed.

“And you’re suspiciously moody for an artisan,” he added.

“That’s because I’m also an artist. Besides, you reward my bad behaviour and ignore good. What did you expect?”

“Simple consequence?”

“Simple consequence. How are you so good at this?”

“Practice.”

“Of course,” she smirked. 

Well, what do you know? He really didn’t strike her as a touchy-feely guy, but here she was, manhandled again. Despite her better judgement, she felt heat slowly coiling up from below her waist. Closed her eyes, fearing he’d see what ideas were festering in her mind.

His hands never strayed from her back. She thought he would leave her after knots were released, but he kept on going, soothing her with almost hypnotic caress. The Sun warmed her skin, fresh air carried sweet fragrance from the tree on the courtyard. She fell asleep.

 

* * *

* * *

  
  


Bane was charming her.

The changes in his behaviour were small, but overall very noticeable. He appeared agreeable to almost everything she asked. Flippant wave of his hand and she was granted a new stool with a plush cushion to rest her leg on during work. Short nod and he accompanied her himself out on the courtyard, to pick few flowered branches of oleander to adorn her workstation. He even agreed to let her out to stroll. Every day, ten minutes. She could even pick the time herself. 

He returned her cigarettes.

She turned the metal case in her hands, leaning out of the window. He took away the lighter, but she had her custom smokes ready, guards obliged to help her with lightning them whenever she asked. She lit one as soon as she saw them waiting on the tray with her breakfast.

Something was amiss. 

She inhaled fragrant smoke deep into her lungs. Enjoyed the extension of an exhale. No point dwelling on it now. It was time to savour the moment.

The main gate opened with a low rumble. Helena watched as SUVs stopped in the middle of the courtyard. Out came a somewhat familiar flock of women.

She smirked. Maybe that was the explanation? Maybe Bane was harbouring a part of him chivalrous towards women. Habit ingrained in many men in childhood. Maybe he just missed the soft presence of a warm body in bed and his confused brain supplied an alternative. Subconsciously wooing her with his compliance.

She frowned. Confusion. That didn’t sound like Bane at all.

Birdman gathered women into a neat group, instructing them with stern air of a gruff uncle. They listened, nodding in all the right places it seemed. Some giggled, bashfully fidgeting with their hair and clothes.

Flicker of movement at the tower had her looking up before she could help herself. 

Bane was looking down at the courtyard. He leaned comfortably on the window frame, shirtless. The hem of his pants was uncommonly low, not held by a belt nor covered by wide brace he often used. It looked softer than what he usually wore. 

She licked her lips. Was that his pajamas? She feasted her eyes on hulking mass of muscle, laid out plainly to see. His forearms were as thick as her shin, no wonder he could break a bone like a twig. 

Whatever he did to her, she couldn’t deny the attraction she felt since the day one. 

Biceps rounded over elbows, defined even in their relaxed state. She let her eyes wander lower, focused on his abdomen. A rare sight. Inevitably though, her gaze travelled back to his face. Or what was visible of it above the mask.

A minute passed and, barely noticeably, he shook his head. 

Then, looked straight at her. 

She dragged a long inhale of the smoke, promptly turned away with a smile.

This was not good, she thought, giggling nervously. 

She was flirting openly with a terrorist.  

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"No one suffers punishment for mere intent."
> 
> **"Through hardships to the stars."
> 
> Next chapter: "Stir crazy". Almost done. Almost...
> 
> Last, but not least - do tell, how do you like the story, characters, and the way this is going. There will be smut, there will be some angst... But what exactly happens can still change. I do listen, I definitely do care what you think.


	8. Stir Crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello back!
> 
> I had a nasty cold, and my lovely Proofer was ill too. So, sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. On the bright side - it's the longest one yet! Since I have too much material anyway, I decided to squish in some stuff instead of inflating number of chapters (it will probably be more than 15 anyway...).
> 
> On with the show!

* * *

* * *

Two weeks into July the medic showed up in her room. 

Helena was finishing her dinner when he just walked in. She paused eating, eyes glued to the metal case dangling from his right hand. Eyebrows raised high, she shot him an inquiring look.

He grinned from behind his beard.

“We’re taking the cast off. Come with me.”

Eagerly she shoved her meal to the side, almost tripping in her haste to wobble after him as fast as she could. He led her to the bathroom. 

“Sit,” he ordered, turned around to open the case. She positioned herself carefully on a chair, leg propped up on a stool. Almost fell from her seat when she looked up to the sight of the man holding up what looked to be a power tool. 

“What the hell is that thing?”

He chuckled. “It’s a cast cutter.”

She eyed the item in question suspiciously. It looked like a drill equipped with a buzz saw. Not trustworthy at all. She looked back up at the medic, gulping.

“Can’t you just soak the cast to dissolve it?”

“It’s fiberglass, so it won’t work. Anyway, even if it wasn’t, it’s not advisable. Come on, it’s not gonna hurt.”

“Pinky promise?” she tried, her voice small.

He chuckled again.

Helena winced when he started the engine. The whirr and buzz was unpleasant in and of itself, but when she felt first vibrations of the blade cutting through the casing on her leg, she grit her teeth to stop the complaint forming reflexively on her tongue. It was the same like being at the dentist. Even if she didn’t feel pain, the sensation of a drill, or a saw as it was the case now, was enough to register in her brain as a threat. She gripped the seat, her knuckles whitening with the strength she put to steady herself. Closed her eyes and drew few calming breaths.

That did not help.

The medic worked efficiently, so she focused on his hands, cataloguing everything he did. He ran the blade all around her leg, from the inner side of her thigh, down to ankle, and reversed the movement on the outer side. Finally, the buzz of the cutter ceased.

“Oh, thank gods,” Helena moaned.

He shot her an amused look and winked. Pulled enormous scissors from the case. Her face fell.

“Relax.” 

He cut around at the edges of the fiberglass plaster, snipping with sure hands the parts he couldn’t get with the saw. His calm demeanour actually did help Helena to settle down. She drew in another calming breath, smell of filings sharp in the air. She watched almost detached as he used giant pliers to move the upper part of the cast, revealing cotton like padding underneath.

“Hey, you said it doesn’t dissolve in water. Does that mean I needlessly covered my hip in plastic whenever I was showering?”

Without looking up, he murmured. “It’s always advisable to keep the moisture out.”

“Could have told me sooner.”

His moustache and beard shifted slightly under his nose. “Well, if I did, the smell would be worse.”

As he cut through the padding, revealing her limb, an unmistakable odour of unwashed flesh rose between them. She wrinkled her face in repulsion.

“Okay, fair enough,” she nodded. 

The door opened and in came James with a bundle of Helena's things.

“Barsad, Bane wants you now.”

The medic nodded, helping the scribe get up. He watched her gingerly hop around the room as he packed his things. “Don’t strain it for the following fortnight, and it should be ok. You’re healing fast.”

She beamed up at him.   

 

* * *

* * *

 

The walks were highlights of her day. She measured her time with brackets; first was visiting the bathroom in the morning. Then, a smoke with breakfast, usually an hour or so after she woke. Work until midday meal. More work, then light meal with tea in the afternoon, followed by a stroll. She usually went on the battlements to see the most of the world she could. After that - more work, evening meal, work, bath, maybe some work, reading, sleep. 

Ten minutes she was granted for a stroll was cruelly short, especially with her leg impeding her movements. She used the time as efficiently as she could, straining to be as fast as possible when she went out of the room, lingering when it was time to go back. 

She enjoyed the Sun. Let down her hair, uncut for months now, to feel the caress of the wind. They never let her get close to the outer edge, but the view made up for this inconvenience. She imagined she was somewhere else entirely. The tingling in her leg was an unfamiliar addition to her moods. Sometimes the muscles spasmed or cramped. The skin above the fracture was unblemished, but sometimes felt both numb and oversensitive at the same time; like a static of an old TV screen, but set in her limb. 

Easy camaraderie between her guards and herself lulled her into contemptment with her standing towards them. She, too, worked for Bane. As them, she was being punished, but also - rewarded. She wondered if Marco was an aberration in their ranks, or if maybe they got orders to behave as they did as of late. The medic who cared for her, Barsad, was unsettlingly nice.

Just as James gestured for her to come back in, Bane came out of the turret at the other side of the battlements. The mercenary strolled over to the ledge, gestured for her to join him on the other side. The wall never linked over the main gate, leaving a four metre gap.

“There used to be another turret here, smaller one,” he said. 

Helena leaned over, inspecting the top of the gate. Time wore the stones so much they looked like they were this way forever, but she did pick up places that must have been the bases of walls. And it made much more sense for the battlements to be joined.

“Who destroyed it?”

“Byzantines, probably.” He leaned his elbows on the stones, much like she did. Very unlike him to give away an information hinting at their location. She wondered why he did it, observing him, as he did her, from her side of the battlements. 

From afar they looked like a twisted instance of neighbours talking over a fence. Deceptively cozy, but with underlying resentment that threatened to surface any minute.

“Your leg heals nicely,” he remarked.

“It would have been better if you haven’t snapped the bone in the first place.”

He scoffed, the mask processing the sound to come out an angry whizz of static. 

“It was a simple consequence of your action.”

Helena stared at him in silence for a long while.

“I don’t understand you. I see the immediate motives behind your actions, but I don’t get where they stem from. You think in different formulas than I do.”

“Does that surprise you?”

“No, it really doesn't,” she shook her head, turning to look away towards the valley. “Still...”

“Do you want to understand me?,” he cut her off.

She looked at him again, but eventually ducked her head and with careful steps started walking back inside. 

“I’m afraid of what I want,” she muttered.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Favours were the heart of a prisoner’s life. You get stuff indebting yourself, gain influence with others when you have something they want. Be it things or abilities. Bane knew the drill intimately.

His little prisoner was clear and concise voicing her wish. He liked that. 

The duplicity, so prevalent in the League, and dishonesty of the world averting gaze from places like his home made him irritable towards unnecessary cunning. At least while he was the one subjected to it. Most of the time, even though people tried to hide them, true motives of their actions were clearly visible. He could understand deception where it counted, endorsed it himself, but never really warmed to it.

Still, the question startled him with its straightforwardness.

“A bath?”, he echoed after her. 

It was just precious.

Helena proved to be an interesting study in behavioural psychology. It was always Talia's corner of science, but he found it fascinating in this instant. It has been over four months since the kidnapping. He admired her practicality so far. About time she started calling in favours for her relatively good behaviour. He expected some quality of life requests, and wasn’t disappointed.

What he was however was mildly amused.

“A bath,” he repeated again, familiar word rolling off his tongue with difficulty.

“Yes. No one in the room but me, no peeking either, warm water. Twenty minutes at minimum.” Arms folded, she specified her request with an air of someone who could make demands.

He wondered if maybe he was getting soft.

“Is your hygienic regime unsatisfactory?”

“To the contrary. It is completely adequate, and I am grateful I don’t have any impediments on that.” Mocking, slightly. Her eyes warmed, while she unfurled her arms to run palms through her scalp. “Look, I do understand you could make my life living hell. I get it, I really do. I know I’m treated fairly and respectfully, and I’m thankful for that.” 

Silently, he just kept staring at her, waiting to reveal the point of this conversation.

“It’s just... ”, impatient sigh escaped her involuntarily, “I miss the stuff I had. And a bath would help with my mind and with relaxing the kinks I get from writing.”

Banes expressive brows shot up in amusement. “Oh, so the work is too straining now?” 

“No, it’s not,” exasperated. Her lips quirked, but she refrained from openly smirking. “I thought I try asking nicely for what I want,” she shrugged, “You don’t want to agree - that’s fine. Not like that's going to change anything, anyway.”

He just bawled something unintelligible under his breath. The mask made it sound like a growl, but his relaxed shoulders put Helena at ease.

“Anything else?”

Hell, might as well try everything at once, she thought.

“A bottle of rum, cigarettes with filters, a lighter and set me free,” she challenged.

Scoffing openly he left her alone to work.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Two days later, she was finishing a page while fighting an onslaught of mosquitoes, when her door opened. She didn’t usually react - random checks were a staple after her escape - the guards made sure she was still there and went their own way. 

There was no sound of the door closing though, so she straightened, turned around in her seat.

Bane.

“Hello,” she greeted. 

“Good evening.” The door moaned as he rested his broad back on it, hooked his hands at the collar of his vest. “You usually finish your work around this time.”

“Yeah, I’m wrapping up, just want to finish this page.”

What was that about?, she wondered.

“It should take me around ten minutes.”

“Very well.”

He just stood there. Helena blinked a few times waiting for any explanation, but he... just stood there. Didn’t seem to want any interaction for the time being, so she went back to writing. This time, he didn’t peek around her shoulder.

Few paragraphs later she was done. Gingerly, she stretched vellum on top of a pile of completed pages. Then it was automatic, cleaning nibs, setting aside inks, emptying used water in a large bucket by the window. One last look at her workplace to confirm everything was in order.

“I’m done.”

Swiftly, he detached himself from the door. “Take your bathrobe and toiletries.”

No way.

“Helena,” He said, stern, but with a hint of amusement.

She bit her lip at him using her given name. Furrowed her brows. Nonetheless, she got up and in half a minute gathered everything she might need.

One curt nod and he turned around, motioning with his hand to follow him.

They turned left in the corridor, instead of usual right for the bathrooms. She curiously looked around, happy she got a legitimate reason to explore part of the compound unknown until now. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Four doors down they turned right, climbed a flight of stairs. Sloped roof indicated they were at the top level. Bane stalked first to the end of the corridor.

He opened a door to a room filled with steam.

“You have exactly twenty minutes.” 

Another curt nod, while looking somewhere past her this time.

“Thank you.”

What was there to lose?

The old fashioned, metal tub was standing in the middle of the room. One short wall was occupied by a window, the other shared space between the door and a dressing table with a mirror. Air was stifling in its humidity - they must have poured in boiling water. She opened the window to allow some oxygen to get in. 

The view was breath-taking.

She didn’t have time to admire it, though. Fingers fumbling with anticipation she undressed in record time, partly thanks to being clothed for sleep already. She didn’t expect to be granted her wish at all, so this came as a nice perk, the fact that she could just soak in the water without any mundane cleaning she might want to have done otherwise. 

She wondered if the window was low enough to peek out as she lay down in the tub.

It was heavenly. 

She didn’t care if Bane could hear her outside, if he even was still by the door, she moaned with pleasure as she immersed herself in scented water. Luxuriant liquid lapped at her skin with each movement, thick foam ghosted along, leaving traces of wispy white lace of bubbles. Her fingers closed on the neck of the bottle left at the stool nearby.

No cigarettes, though.

Fiddling with the nut took her a minute, but finally she was able to open it. She latched herself to the opening, taking a generous chug of spiced alcohol. It burned her throat, but in a good, very good way.

The drink warmed her up from the inside, making her more receptive to any other stimulants. Caress of the water, exquisite anyway, was overwhelming after third swig of rum. 

She turned on her belly to look out of the window. The view was scenic. Barren highlands punctuated by patches of forests stretching as far as eye could see under the clear, star studded sky. It was beautiful in an exposed, raw way. She wished the circumstances of this bath were different. People would pay good money to see that landscape. People would pay for a writing retreat in the middle of nowhere. 

She snickered, taking another gulp from the bottle. She could imagine it was all voluntary. After all, she never did complete her assignments on time, unless someone or something cracked a proverbial whip over her head. Well, this time the whip was just less figurative than usual. 

She could imagine she was at a monastery, with semi-sadistic, mister-universe-lookalike as an abbot. Helping her complete her work with a regime of medieval discipline.

She laughed, taking another sip, spilling some booze down her chin.

The bath was making her feel more and more sensual with each passing minute. She rested her cheek on the edge of the tub, sliding her left palm down her neck. That felt nice. Water added slickness that made her hum quietly in content. Months passed since she last had time for herself, even more from the last time she had time of day with her husband. Even more still since it was satisfactory. 

Almost unintentionally her palm travelled south, nails slightly scratching at her clavicle. Just a touch, to help her relax. It couldn’t hurt. Automatically she cupped her breast, toying at the apex with practiced ease. 

It has been so long… 

Her muscles relaxed further in the bath, made her forget about the man at the door. She had at least another ten minutes for herself. Hand dropped to her waist, then down still to outer rim of her hip. Humming constantly now, an out of tune melody, she tickled the inner side of her thigh. 

Another swig of the rum and she returned the bottle back to the stool. The drink combined with heat of the bath made her lightheaded. Fingers slithered between her legs, finding another kind of liquid slickness.

She didn’t even register a moan escaping her lips.

Movements of her arm moved the water, the sound of sloshing liquid echoed in the room. Right hand gripping the edge of the tub, Helena bit the base of her thumb. 

So good. 

Loud thumping at the door startled her out of her preoccupation.

“You are at a halftime,” Bane informed. 

She trashed in the water for a few seconds, panicked.

“Are you ok?”

She settled down with a few quick deep breaths. Her body contorted as she turned back chest up. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said through her teeth. No way could she get back in the mood now. She was almost there. Surely he could hear her and just had to interrupt well into the act, instead of letting her know earlier.

“Fucker,” she muttered. 

For the remainder of her bath she resigned herself to just sitting in the water, chugging the alcohol down, steeping in dark thoughts. Admiring the view.

The water was cooling rapidly in the cool breeze going in through the window, but she didn’t register, warmed up from the inside. She was down to half of the contents of the bottle when another thump resonated in the room. 

“Your time is up.”

Shit, already?

She sat up straight, heart racing wildly.

“Just give me a sec.”

The door opened, making her immediately slump back down below the water line. 

“I said twenty minutes. Even alerted you after ten. The fact that you’re not ready is no one’s fault but your own.” He mocked her openly. “It’s time to go back.”

“A minute, please!” she pleaded, desperate not to be paraded around naked. Her palms gripped edges of the tub. “Could you at least close the window and turn around for a moment?”

Surprisingly, he did just that. She turned in the water, to keep an eye on him while she got up. For what though? If he chose to watch her, she couldn’t do anything about it.

Slowly, she climbed out, first going up on her knees, then chest up, and quickly out of the tub. She didn’t even waste time drying up, only shrugging on the robe as soon as she got a hold of it.

“Are you done?” Low growl, threatening.

“I'm good to go,” she huffed. Panties, pajamas and towel in hand, she clutched them to her chest. Wordlessly he escorted her back to her room. Same as before, no one was in sight but the two of them.

“Thank you, Bane,” she whispered at the door, the adrenaline from past five minutes coursing through her blood still.

Curt nod was her only answer, as he went on his way down the corridor.

Fresh pack of cigarettes was waiting on her desk. She lit one as soon as she heard rustle of the guards outside her door. Her hands shook.

She couldn’t fall asleep that night.

 

* * *

* * *

 

He saw her in that window.

Worse than that, he also saw the reflection from the mirror, and given how she chose to get up… The image haunted him all the way back into his chambers. He focused first on the way wet hair escaped the loose bun she preferred during the day, and clung in damp curly strands to her neck. It was too vulnerable. Almost the same as when her head inclined down or tilted to the side when she was working. The way her bottom peeked out from the bath, remnants of foam clinging to her thighs, echoed in him still. Breasts glistening with moisture in the dim light. Slender back, accentuated by thin robe clinging to damp skin. He still saw that behind his eyelids.

He didn’t anticipate his act of kindness to backfire on him. It made him wonder where his boundaries truly lied. Was he above using his prisoner for his own pleasure? He never allowed his men to execute unnecessary suffering on their victims. If they killed or maimed, it was fast. It helped them to be swift and precise. It aided him in controlling them. Time for work and time for play were strictly separated. He wasn’t all monster, despite what people might have thought. There were thresholds even he didn’t want to cross. At least not personally. 

But, if she'd be willing?

His mind raced. She had to know he could hear her from behind the door. No, wait. He probably just imagined what she did. Might have done, he corrected. After all, the sound of sloshing water could mean just about anything when a person enjoys a bath.

The decision to supervise Helena himself was rash, but he congratulated himself forth mindedness. If he was this affected, who knew what would less disciplined members of his band do if put in the same situation?

He smirked then.

He remembered the imprint of her teeth on the base of her right thumb.

Not so innocent after all.

 

* * *

* * *

 

First two weeks of August saw Bane travelling between Philippines, Norway and Nigeria. Then, he also had a task to complete for Talia, a continuation of a job they started in Chad. She pestered him about his monastery, and the scribe he hid between its walls. His ears wilted over the possibilities she painted before him. He missed the times she listened, instead of bestowing her wisdom careless of his involvement in the discussion. On more than one occasion he let his mind wander to the papers he left on his desk back at the compound, pages filled with information he wanted to compute. There would be dozens more when he finally came back. 

As reluctant as he was to admit that even to himself, his absence from the monastery was longer than he liked. The memory of Helena’s bout in the bath kept him company often.   

He went to check on the scribe straight after arriving back from the job. The light in her room was still on, the night early. She was probably working, last stretch before sleep. Warnings from Talia still rung in his ears, but he dismissed them to the back of his mind. There were aspects of his life his little girl would never be a part of, even as a counsel. He glanced briefly at the sack hanging from his left hand. Another manuscript, this one snatched from a black market overlord. A treatise on morality from early Middle Ages. He was sure Helena would love the handiwork, while he could smirk over the contents. Too bad she didn’t read Latin fluently. He could spare some time over the winter to teach her some basics. She would pick up the rest herself, after…

He stopped just before her door, dismissing the guard with an impatient wave of his hand. Full implications of his last thought caught up to him in an instant. If her predictions were correct, Helena should finish the manuscript by early November. He would like to keep her longer, but it was impossible to just have her sit at the compound so he would have someone to talk to. He needed a legitimate reason, both for himself and for his men. Again, he glanced at the pouch holding the book. He would have to work out the details, but the plan was forming slowly in his mind.

For now he settled on finishing what he came here to do. 

The handle didn’t squeal as he turned it and opened the door. 

She was at the desk as he suspected she would be. Slumped over the page, her left palm played with hair at the nape of her neck. Robe pooled at her feet, framing her legs clad in thigh-high woollen socks. One sleeve of the robe hung lowly at an elbow, exposing shoulder bisected with thin lacy strap of her nightgown. He remembered that piece, the way it whispered sliding through his fingers when he searched her suitcase. 

Somehow he never got to visit with her after she got ready to sleep, with the exception of that one time she requested a bath. He thought of one obvious way to keep her on the compound without too much raised brows from his men.

A very ugly smile crept on his face, hidden by the mask.

Helena put down the pen, straightened her back and stretched with a sigh. 

He licked his lips at the sight of muscles dancing beneath her skin.

She startled when she noticed him in her peripheral vision.

“Another kink in your shoulder?” he inquired, closing the door.

“How long have you been there?” Exasperated.

He stalked towards her, noting how her pupils dilated as he got closer. She crossed her legs.

“You stink.”

Bane looked himself over. Might as well with the gunpowder, sweat and blood that were on him. He tilted his head switching his gaze back to her.

“I brought you some inspiration, but you don’t seem too agreeable tonight.”

“It’s not me who forgot to shower today,” she accused.

“No, you only forgot your manners.”

“You didn’t say anything when you came in here.”

“Touche.” He leaned over the desk. Helena bit her bottom lip, as her nostrils fluttered. “But I can do whatever I want here.”

She sucked in a shaky breath.

He aroused her. The realization made him slightly light headed, heady mix of power and desire settling in his gut. Straightening back he looked at her from his considerable height.

Lacy fringe of the nightgown encompassed her breasts loosely, accenting them more than covering. Length of the garment revealed most of her legs, smooth skin ending at the hem of her socks.

He swallowed, noticing immediately how her eyes seemed glued to his neck. Not for the first time. He put his hand on her exposed shoulder. Her lips parted in a quick pant.

He left the pouch on the desk, stepped behind her chair.

“Bane?”

His thumb slid in circles on her skin. Hearing her breath quicken a notch he slid the other sleeve down her arm with his left palm. The feel of her body under his hands was electric. 

“Bane,” she repeated, slightly panicked. Her palms gripped the edge of the desk.

He didn’t want to scare her. Only, the back of her neck looked so enticing. His fingers drifted up to little hair at the base of her skull. So delicate. 

He could see the shiver that ran down her spine.

“I don’t want this,” she pleaded.

Bane winced. She could lie to herself all she wanted but he knew. He saw how she truly felt. His hand buried in her hair grabbing a handful at her scalp, tugging her head back.

“Of course you don’t,” he mocked. Her pulse was quickened, cheeks flashing red. His gaze dropped to her breasts betraying nervous flutter of her heart. Tips of her nipples were clearly raised underneath the soft fabric. Her legs shifted as muscles of her thigh tightened, fingers dug stronger on the edge of the desk.

“Remember, I don’t take well to being lied to.” His other hand cradled her jaw. Sliver of fear glimmered in her eyes. He pressed on her lower lip, her mouth slightly agape. Tested the softness of seashell pink inside, leaving a salty trail.

She flung to grab at his wrist to stop him, but he was faster snatching her arm mid-air.

“If I wanted to make you do it, I wouldn’t even break a sweat about it.”

“I know.”

“I won't,” he let her go, turned to the door. “You will come to me yourself.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

She would love to come to him.

The humiliation burned in her chest. All it took was Bane waltzing in and manhandling her, and all she could think of was that this was almost exactly one of her fantasies. He was completely in control. Dominated her. What was worse - he knew exactly how it affected her.

She shook her head, combing fingers through her hair. She would pull through. Willpower is like a muscle - you have to train it to keep it strong.

Closing her eyes she gathered her resolve one last time. Idly, she turned off the lamp and switched to sit on the bed.

It came to her in an instant. The fact that she wanted Bane and he knew it was one thing, but she just grasped the realization that he wanted her in return. And he wouldn’t make her do anything unless she wanted it herself. That’s what it all boiled down to.

When she noticed him in her room she was startled - he was quiet like a ghost. Then she saw the way he looked. More menacing than ever she saw up close, in full mercenary battle regalia, fresh out of combat. His vest smeared with blood, dusted in dirt and gunpowder. Black long sleeve stretching over taut muscles still twitching occasionally with leftover adrenaline. Old, battered cargo pants tucked safely into big black boots. Fingers rubbing together restlessly beneath the leather of his wrist guard.

And then, he came to her and she couldn’t help all those little reactions that told him in detail how she felt.

And he saw everything.

And he liked it.

And he left her when she showed him it was too much, too fast.

She knew how lucky she was that the mercenary wasn’t the one to force her. Pressure, maybe, but she was confident she could take it. She would endure, she repeated to herself. She won’t give in.

Black lump on her desk caught her eye. The pouch Bane brought. Interest piqued she fluidly rose, turning back on the lamp.

It was a book. Another manuscript, its style noticeably more ornate than the one she was working on. Almost every available surface was covered in intricate illuminations. She puzzled over the text, but complicated hand and subtle subject made it impossible for her to discern more than a few words. She caught one she knew by heart on the front page, and when she did, she threw her head back, laughing heartily.

Morality. 

 

* * *

* * *

 

He gave her some breathing room after that night. The days flew by, heat of summer at its peak giving slowly way to autumnal rains. Not just yet but soon the cold wind from the mountains would soothe him after excursions to Africa. The deal to look over mine in Nigeria proved to be as troublesome as it was profitable. Bane had his hands full, his men spread thin. He thrived in times like these.

Not for the first time he wondered if at any point in his life he actually could live peacefully. Would he be physically able to brave the boredom of being without violence? Or would he die fighting, just the way he did come to be in this world?

His eyes settled on the scribe’s room. No light. Weird, at his hour, she usually worked even after dark. He strained his vision. The darkness was his ally, but the distance made it difficult to pinpoint all of the details at once. 

Helena was sitting on her bed, putting on boots.

What the hell for?

Bane observed as she left the room. The guard at the post was nowhere in sight. Interesting. His little captive was an opportunist, he knew, but the extent of her shamelessness in that regard baffled him slightly. It bordered on stupidity. Where would she go? The timing was interesting, though. Fifteenth day of the month. Her first escape was on the same day two months ago, in June. He kidnapped her in the middle of March. Did she plan all of this after all? 

He looked at the clock, measuring time it took his men to respond. Waiting for alarm to be raised, he wondered about his captive.

His attempts at chivalry were noted, appreciated, but treated somewhat suspiciously. There was no disappointment on this matter, he expected as much. Constant dripping wears away a stone. He had time, every advantage of his position and superior mind. The discipline over emotions she lacked. If all went according to his wishes, she would come to him herself, awed by his power. As she should be.

The minutes trickled away, measured with incessant ticking of the clock.

Bane stayed glued to his seat, unseeing eyes glossing over a printout he neglected for far too long.

He weighted the time spent hovering over his captive, versus the rewards he got from it. The conversations he was so pricing were a luxury. Whims, satisfying his desire for human contact not influenced by his position. The book itself could be made with minimum input on his side. Constant supervision could be cut down to visits while Helena was out of the room or asleep. 

But he didn't want to deny himself.

His radio screeched, an urgent voice demanding his attention. He acknowledged the report, gave all the usual orders. Decided he could spare another fifteen minutes before either the scribe would be brought back, or he'd have to get her himself. 

Picking up a pencil for notes he twirled it in his fingers impatiently. Where would she hide?

 

* * *

* * *

 

The ledge was too short. 

Helena willed herself to move another inch towards the edge, but her legs were petrified with fear. The muscles of right thigh complained after the workout she put them through, shaking violently. She didn’t appreciate her own body thwarting her escape plan. But there was no other way around. She climbed down the battlement, scaled her way above the gate to the other side of the compound. Night was chilly for August, making her fingers stiffer still with low temperature. 

She was stuck halfway up to her mark. 

About ten minutes earlier she registered increased activity on the battlements, scuffle of feet rapidly scaling pathways, patrolling the premises frantically. They were looking for her. Her only hope now was that they wouldn't realize she didn’t have enough guts to actually run. Then, she could just wait in hiding between the rocks, until passing over the mountains would be safe. She could still do it.

This won’t end like the last time, she prayed.

Her hands were tired. Below, there was an eight meters drop down the wall, longer still including tumble down the hill that would follow. Her jaw was painfully tight.

The worst part was she couldn’t go back, even if she wanted to. The route she took was difficult, plus her body froze with fear. 

She hugged closer to the cold stone. Rough surface of the wall scratched her forehead.

Pointless. 

She couldn’t move forward.

Thumping steps vibrated impossibly through the masonry just above.

Her breath hitched, the surprise made her flinch. Her fingers slipped on the ledge.

She couldn't suppress the whimper that followed. Her eyes welled with angry tears.

“I’m here,” she whined, defeated.

Pacing above her, stopped with the first sound she made, resumed briskly after she sobbed.

“Well, hello there.”*  

Humiliation swelled in her chest. “Help me up, please.” She blinked to clear her eyes, never looking up.

“Let me think about it.”

Fucker. 

She angled her head to him, faking remorse. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

She scoffed. It felt surreal to be found out and captured yet again, but she felt an irresistible urge to argue. “I am sorry my escape attempt failed again.”

“Ah.” He leaned casually on the stone, his palms dangling limply above her head. “How could I forget. A virtuous man never lies.”

She pursed her lips. “Fuck you.”

The satisfaction of saying that to Bane’s face wasn’t worth the awareness of her failure, or the power he had over her. Especially now that she relied on him to save her from potentially fatal fall. But the temper rose like bile in her throat. She stifled the urge to follow her last statement with another expletive.

Bane stretched his right hand towards her. “Come.”

Her forehead rested for a moment longer on the cold wall. There was no way she could wait him out. Will him to go away. Will herself to grow wings and spit on him from a safe vantage point in the sky.

“Helena.”

Reluctantly, she reached up. Bane picked her over the battlements with ease. For a split second, as her eyes met his over the masonry, her heart sunk in fear. Last time she ran he broke her leg.

He could just drop her now.

Strong hand hauled her upwards, until his other gathered her close to him. He cradled her in the cage of his arms and chest. He supervised her every move now, controlled her position and every dimension she could reasonably shift to. She just lay there, stiff and ashamed as he hauled her back inside.

“I’m disappointed in you.”

The bile she tried to keep at bay rose again and overflowed.

“You have no right to be disappointed, Bane. It is perfectly normal for a captured being to try and get back to freedom.”

“So you keep saying.”

“You keep me locked up like an animal. I can’t even go for a walk unsupervised. I can’t even go for a walk for more than ten minutes! I am not your pet!”

He growled above her, but didn’t say anything. They reached her room. He kept going, descended to the underground level. 

She knew what was coming now.

“Fuck you.”

He scoffed. “You seem to have lost the appreciation you once held for my leniency towards you.” Entered the familiar cell. 

Another spiteful “Fuck you.”

Bane let go of her legs, but kept her hugged to him for a while longer than necessary.

“I am quite sure you would object to that.”

She gulped when he finally released her.

He turned back with murmured “For now.”

Irritation danced with a shiver on her back. He was so full of himself. So what if she wanted him?

“Isn’t this the part where you threaten my family, and I am desperately trying to protect them from harm?”

“There is no need for that with you.”

“I know it’s stupid, but somehow, that’s offending.”

"You're easily offended, then." She was sure he smirked. "You care more about yourself, thus threatening someone else would be pointlessly laborious and ineffective." He gestured lazily, as if really weighing possible actions. "But it's always an option worth considering, if everything else fails."

"Oh, is that so? Can't believe you didn't think of that before." She moved to look out of the window. "So, what are you going to break this time?"

"You."

"That isn't what I asked."

"Isn't it?" He straightened. "You have taken liberties. It is time to suffer the consequences."

"Are we talking about consequences of my escape?"

"Perhaps."

"Why are you toying with me, Bane?"

"Enjoy your stay." He waved his hand dismissively as he went out of the cell.

Left her uncertain if there would be another act of violence, only later. 

How long would he keep her underground this time?

She wondered how was it that she still said all the wrong things during their conversations. He somehow lulled her into comfortable cocoon whenever he was close. Then she found herself with a foot in her mouth as he walked away. Why are you toying with me?, really now…

She knew  she was practically asking to be punished. No one needed to lay out rules of the game in writing. Some things you just didn’t do while kidnapped and imprisoned.

Don’t try to run away.

Don’t talk back.

Don’t tease.

Don't stare longingly at broad back and confident sway of hips as your kidnapper stalks away. 

She moved to the cot, arranged the mattress to her liking. Plopped down to just wait everything out.

Her eyes focused on the guard, already sitting idly just outside the bars.

“Hi, James.”

Barely noticeable nod.

“So, here we are again.”

His lips contorted ever so slightly, a shadow of a smirk.

“I guess you would say I’m to blame.”

Raised eyebrow.

“Well, seeing how I’m the victim here, all my actions were entirely justified.” 

A scoff.

“No?”

He looked away.

She left the question hanging between them in the damp air of the basement.

* * *

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *South Park, season 16, episode 10 [TIME 11:30]


	9. Shades of Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually a bonus chapter. :)  
> Next one will be containing stuff that made me label it as an "M".

* * *

* * *

 

Bane walked into Helena’s room. He remembered not long ago when he visited in similar circumstances. Everything looked the same; the only difference was an unmade bed. He sat on it and looked around. The night was dark, but he didn’t mind. Everywhere were reminders of Helena and the time he spent with her. He weighed in his mind whether he should punish her again, or not. He couldn’t see the point, since her first attempt and subsequent injury followed up to where he was now. Perhaps, he ought to stay on the course he decided on then. Change her thinking with careful conditioning. Positive reinforcement.

He smirked and, following an impulse, reached up to take off his mask. Without any preparation he could endure about a minute before crippling pain would consume him. But he wanted to incorporate the smell of this room into his memories. 

The air was a bit stuffy, since the window stayed closed for two weeks, ever since the scribe attempted to run. Bane inhaled deeply. There was a sweet aroma, mixed with an unfamiliar earthiness. He stood up, walked over to the desk. Put an unfinished page to his nose. The earthiness. 

He sniffed again trying to decipher what emitted the sweetness. There weren’t many options. Carefully he sat back on the bed. It was narrow. He lay on the side. 

There it was. The pillow carried a distinct aroma, difficult to pinpoint. Overwhelmingly sweet. It reminded him of almonds, and summer heat in the garden, filled with flowers. He reached for the mask. He heard the softest crinkle of paper from under his head.

Attaching source of Venom back over his face, he looked closely at the head of the bed. Short search and he sat back comfortably, a stack of sketches in hand. Even his excellent night vision was not enough to distinguish the details, since everything was done in fast, faint lines. He reached over to turn on the lamp.

There were five pages. All of him. He laid them around, one by one, leaving the last sheet in his hands. 

A study of his gear, intricate details in close-ups, emphasis on muscles visible behind the trinkets. 

Tall menacing figure, at rest with hands hooked at his vest. 

Sitting on a crate, hunched down with a rope in his hands, talking with someone. 

His back and head, marred with scars depicted with an unsettling amount of accuracy, one that could come only from months of careful observation. 

Five sketches of his masked face, eyes the most striking feature. Smiling, angry, measuring, mischievous, calm.

Why did she feel necessary to hide the drawings was obvious, but why they were created in the first place? 

He smiled.

Oh, he would make her come to him.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Three weeks in confinement she wanted to scream from boredom. 

She took to rambling away at guards. Some of them just let her go on for hours, others left in no uncertain terms how her tongue wouldn’t be needed for completion of her job. Bane could just let them do it, since her punishment for the latest escape never really came. 

Today she would be relatively safe to ramble away, as James was once again posted on guard duty. She watched him converse with Marco. He usually did before taking over.

She was exhausted with fear and uncertainty. So much, it churned inside her turning into other things. Hilarity. Anger. Growing desire to burst into song.

Hello darkness, my old friend...

The guards stopped talking and stiffened, looking at something out of her range of view. They nodded in unison and left.

Bane, of course.

He stalked to the door of the cell. Opened it. 

“Come.”

She sucked in a long, calming breath as she got up. 

Okay. Whatever happens now, will pass. She would endure.

He led her up, to familiar corridor. Back to her room. Opened the door. “Shall we?”

Helena stared at him, surprised. Questions bubbled inside her, the most insistent - why are you just letting me off the hook? But she didn’t dare ask. 

She marched to her desk, sat in a chair.

Bane settled in his spot on her right, leaning on the wall.

“You managed to surprise me,” he started. Helena looked up at him. “That was a very daring attempt.”

“Very stupid and not overthought, that’s for sure.”

His eyes crinkled.

“If I hadn’t known better I might have been worried you were captured by aliens.”

“Aliens?”

“Oh, yes. As a commemoration of the thirtieth anniversary of us receiving a message from them.”

Brows raised as far as they would go, she twisted her lips in derision. Was this his attempt at humour?

“You lost me at aliens.” 

He nodded solemnly. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

She giggled.

“Wow. That was as dry as yesterday's lunch.”

“Wow, indeed.*” He reached to caress the flowers adorning her desk, knocking down dried petals. “You touch the heart of the subject without even knowing about it. It’s sad, the ignorance.”

“Ah, but ignorant people are calmer.”

“Maybe. But they suffer the consequences of their ignorance anyway.”

“It is difficult not to stay ignorant, with someone as secretive and knowledgeable as you.”

“I could teach you some things.”

“I’m not sure I would take to your teachings.”

“You could use some Latin.”

“I could use some books to read, again. Even something in a dead language would do.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Can it be arranged in a way that enables me to pick the titles myself?”

“You’re greedy.”

“Who has been picking my reading matter up until now? You?”

“Yes.”

“It shows,” she grinned.

“What does it show?”

“Why did you pick only classics? Dumas, Thackeray, Flaubert, Dostoevsky?” 

He lifted his chin, staring at her down the length of his covered nose.

“Morality, crime, guilt and punishment. You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are,” she continued.

“Neither are you.”

“I don’t really try to be.”

“Should I take that as an invitation then?”

“You will take it as you wish, as you always do.”

“There are many actions you take, that could be seen as an encouragement.”

“Yet my words are certainly not.”

He nodded.

“I’ve found your sketches.”

“Oh.” That threw her out of her comfort zone. She tried to recall if she made any explicit ones.

“I’ve burnt them,” he added.

Helena smiled. “Too much information on you if anyone other found them, eh?”

“You stare too much. You stare and you see things in repetition so often, you notice details you wouldn’t otherwise.”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t want you drawing me or my men.”

“I won’t,” she inclined her head down, hiding relief.

“When will the book be ready?”

“End of October, maybe middle of November.” She stroked the desk with both palms. The door clicked behind Bane. “Depends on my behaviour, I suppose.” 

 

* * *

* * *

 

September started off with a heatwave rivalling peak of summer only to crush in thunderous downpour a week later. Gusts of wind howled and crushed against ancient stones of the compound.

Despite the weather, Helena stuck religiously to strolling privilege bestowed upon her by Bane, reinstated now that she was back to her usual work regime. Ten minutes of sun, wind, rain, inhibited on her skin, was perfect respite from dreary reality of the imprisonment.

She was tucked comfortably in the biggest scarf she had, with a long open tunic, long-sleeved shirt, tank top, leggings and a pair of jeans - it took lots of layers to combat the sudden chill. Especially since she only had meagre amounts of spring clothes at hand. 

But the gale toying roughly with her hair was comforting nonetheless. Slight shiver travelled down her shoulders as she closed her eyes, imagining she was at a resort somewhere. Right, a monastery with a sadistic abbot. Yes, that would work. Exotic, oriental holiday, immersed in solitude and her work.

She nearly grasped the tranquillity she hoped to invoke.

“You look very dramatic, posed like this. Is it deliberate?”

An undignified squeal escaped her as her body tensed and turned at the same time. Bane was standing two steps from her, casually leaning on a wall, looking pensively at the valley stretching below the monastery.

Regaining her composure she straightened, turned back away from him. It should be impossible for a man of his mass and physical presence to move as stealthily as he did, she thought. Her shoulders tensed reflexively.

“I was aiming for aloof and Byronic.”

“Indeed?” The ever present lilt in his voice masked his true intentions.

“Is my stroll time over yet?”

“In a while.”

“I see.” No point pestering him, since he obviously didn’t yet plan to take her back to the cell.

An idea flashed in her mind, spreading a warm glow of mirth in its wake. Out of them both it was Bane who acted distanced and mysterious most of the time. She searched her mind for a fitting passage, meandering somewhere in the depths of her memory.

Frivolity gripped her when she recalled the words, sending tremors of excitement down her body. She rested her head back on cold expanse of the wall, stuffed clenched fists in pockets of her tunic.

She closed her eyes, careful not to lose her nerve before the passage flew out of her lips.

Here goes nothing.

“He knew himself a villain - but he deemed

The rest no better than the thing he seem’d;

And scorn’d the best as hypocrites who hid

Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did.

He knew himself detested, but he knew

The hearts that loath’d him, crouch’d and dreaded too.

Lone wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt

From all affection and from all contempt.”**

Her small voice trailed like wisps of smoke on billowing squall around them. The delivery came out much more sombre than she intended. What started as a mockery quickly morphed into badly hidden respect. 

She dared a look at Bane, right eye peeking open with movement of an eyebrow, slight incline of her head towards him. 

Never would she expect the bewilderment she could see in his eyes. There was something akin to horror, panic and amazement, all mingled in one unexpected expression. She knew the description was on point, but did not anticipate it affecting him this much. 

“This poem is nearly two hundred years old, you know.” 

His eyes shifted away. She watched his chest expand in a repressed sigh.

“It’s not really about you.”

Did she imagine tension releasing his broad frame?

“Whose is it?”, he inquired.

Seizing the chance she removed herself from the wall, struck a purposefully melodramatic pose, one leg braced on the battlements, hand outstretched with flair towards the valley. “Lord George Gordon Byron,” she glanced at his reaction and solemnly finished with the title, “‘The Corsair.’”

“‘The corsair’ as in - a pirate?”

“Yes.”

“Early nineteenth century pirate, as described by a poet.”

“Yes.”

“So you see me as a romantic hero then?” Incredulous.

“Somewhat.”

He scoffed, and actually laughed. For three seconds she smiled with him. Even when he shook his head, waved her over to the door.

“Your stroll time is over.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

Bane looked himself over in the mirror. He washed his hands of the foundation that helped conceal tan lines on his face. He grew out his beard and moustache, hiding some of the scarring with length of the hair. Grey suit, white shirt, blue tie. His eyes looked almost green by comparison with vivid indigo of the knitted silk. Putting on a hat he nodded, satisfied with the result. He capped the syringe, put it in a pocket. The hotel staff would find it very interesting if he had left it out in the open. He would dispose of it outside.

Leaving the room, he looked it over one last time, noting details for reference when he comes back. He slumped his shoulders, hiding his true height. Let the aches he felt in his back show in the way he walked. 

He purchased an umbrella in a stand in the lobby. It poured cats and dogs in Munich, giving the city a sullen, depressing look. Despite that, he was in good spirits. He had a meeting with his little girl planned for today, a secret treat for himself tomorrow, then a trip to Norway and back to the monastery. Good things were ahead. He smiled.

Talia was waiting in a restaurant on Marienplatz sitting by the window. They exchanged a hug as usual, sat amiably in silence for a while, looking fondly at each other.  

“Is your guest productive?”, she asked.

Bane recalled Helena’s previous quarters and the reason for it.

“Sufficiently so, yes,” he lied.

“You seem content.”

“Everything’s going according to my plans.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

He studied her for a minute, a hint of something detectable in her tone, but not distinct enough to pinpoint.

“Where are you staying?”

“Mandarin Oriental.”

”Oh, that’s a good choice.” She graciously conversed with their waiter, fluent German unmarred by her tumultuous upbringing, ordering for Bane and herself. 

They were just tourists, pair of friends enjoying a morning in beautiful city. He looked out of the window, comparing them to the people outside. The same, at the first glance. 

But the glass separated them, invisible but noticeable presence.

She turned back to him with a serene expression on her face. 

“I heard from Doctor Porter.”

He nodded, waiting for more information. The peacefulness gave way to weariness.

“He says the new strand will be ready in a month.”

“Fast.” Too fast, he thought.

“The new assistant, Doctor Isley, is apparently some miracle worker when it comes to plants. He’s quite smitten with her.”

Bane scoffed. It was hard to imagine Porter smitten with anything. The man was like Mengele, focused solely on his research, equally psychotic.

“Did he leave you any more details?”

“Yes, there are some quite interesting side effects, compared to the old one.” She smiled devilishly. “Used on ‘normal’ subjects in small doses it invokes devotion, apparently towards the nearest authority figure that presents itself. In lack of thereof, the feeling shifts to the divine.” She grinned. “Every other aspect; increased muscle mass, desensitization towards pain, increased sentient capabilities remain the same.”

Bane did not share her smiles.

“He predicts it should not affect you, at least not to the extent it does his test subjects. You were always set apart from the normal patients anyway.”

“I want to see his notes.”

“Of course.”

The bells on the tower of the New City Hall rung out the hour. Clouds parted, sharp rays of the Sun blinded tourists gathered in a group before their restaurant. 

“It’s starting!” Talia exclaimed excitedly.

Bane let his eyes wander to the Carillion moving slowly to a simple tune, chiming above their heads. His mood soured, but he wouldn’t let that spoil his time with Talia. If the new strand wasn’t to his liking, he would just made do with the old. It worked well enough over the last twelve years.

He sighed, watching the knights jousting. The blues won over the reds.

 

* * *

* * *

 

“You were up late yesterday.”

“Mhm,” Helena nodded, not raising her head. She was in the middle of colouring an intricately woven chain around the initial, adding layers of azurite to ultramarine base, for the depth. “I didn’t know you were back from your trip.”

He grunted, taking his usual spot on her right. Watched her work, feeling the tension he didn’t know was there shift away in waves. Casual conversation was just what he needed. 

“What is that colour?”, Bane asked, “indigo?”

“No, I don’t use something as common as that,” she smirked, “It’s smalt.”

He cocked his head to the side. When she raised her hand from the page, his palm moved to her shoulder. The gesture was familiar, she saw him use it sometimes. Was subjected to it herself once before.

“Would you like to rephrase your statement? I did notice you only use pigments available during the time the original was created. I happen to know meaning of many words. Even if attaching names to colours might be obscure to me,” his tone was as usual difficult to judge. To Helena it always seemed either threatening or mocking. Hardly any help in this situation. 

But he left her a way out, which she grasped immediately.

“Let’s remedy that, then.”

She rearranged her working space, putting away the page in progress to replace it with jars of inks and pigments.

“Which hues can you name?”

He shifted his palm, sliding it across her breastbone to the opposite side. His arm rested on her breast, chin tucked on her left shoulder, hunkered down behind her. Left arm reached to sort through the jars.

“Black.”

“From carbon, or burnt bones,” she supplied. Fought to keep her breathing steady.

“White.” 

“Lime white. Simple chalk powder. They used to use lead to make white, too, but since it’s toxic, I’d rather not work with it.” She wondered if it wouldn't be preferable to the situation she was in right now. She was surrounded by him on all sides. His smell, musky and masculine, noticeable easily at this proximity. 

“Vermillion.”

“Or cinnabar, if it's not synthetic. Somewhat toxic, not as much as red lead though, which was preferred red of Byzantine illuminators.” She was sure her cheeks took on quite similar hue now. Her throat was dry. The mask scraped deliciously on the side of her neck.

“Ultramarine?”, he asked picking up the blue she was using when he first inquired.

“No, that’s azurite. From mineral deposits on oxidized copper. Ultramarine is here,” she reached to pick a pot in question. Bane forced her back to the chair. Her heart picked up at the pressure on her chest. 

He tilted his head to her, catching earlobe with the tubes. “Let me.” 

She shivered. He must have noticed. His thumb moved in relaxing circles on her shoulder. Left palm slithered down her arm, tracing gently a line her own hand would have gone. 

“This one?” He picked up a pot. 

“No, that’s indigo. Notice how dark it is.” don’t notice how my breathing picked up, she thought.

“This?” He raised the correct jar.

“Yes. Precious as gold, made from ground lapis lazuli.”

“Precious as gold,” he mused, bringing the container closer to his eyes. 

Helena shifted her head to look, pressing closer to his mask. The friction it elicited on paper thin skin behind her ear made her huff a very indiscreet breath. 

Bane put the pigment back on the desk. 

“Do I arouse you, Miss Wolf?”

Her jaw tightened. She turned away.

“No, no, no,” he brought her back, left palm insistent on her right cheek. “Answer me.”

She licked her dried lips. Watched as he followed the movement with his eyes.

“Do I arouse you, Bane?’”

He looked back up. He was so close; she had to tilt her head closer into his palm to see him clearly.

“You do.”

She gulped. 

“Answer me.”

“No,” she said, “You scare me.”

The smile behind the mask must have deepened. 

“Liar.” 

She felt a pang of worry at his light-hearted remark.

“You forget one thing,” he said as his right hand slithered down her arm to her stomach. She gasped, feeling his fingers dance on the hem of her jumper.

“This is a state as easy to find out in females as it is in males.”

His thumb grazed her lips, testing the moisture that escaped with each breath.

“Okay, I lied,” she tried, desperate to stop him.

“I know.” His palm splayed under her jumper, thumb right under her bra, pinky at the hem of her pants. Digit at her lips pushed in, to touch tip of her tongue. “Don’t bite.”

She closed her eyes, fighting the urge to suck on his finger and push up to encourage his other palm. Her teeth closed on him gently. Bane swiped gently from left to right, gathering moisture, then slid his thumb out, down her chin and neck.

Helena let her head fall back with a moan.

He moved his right hand down to her hip, under the fabric of her pants.

“Do I arouse you?” he asked again.

“Yes,” she sighed. Bit her lip, as he pressed his mask again to the side of her neck. Palm at her neck closed over her throat. Gently, but with enough pressure to be noticeable. She opened her eyes.

“Then come to me, when you feel like doing something about it.” She did moan for real then, the vibrations carried through his mask caressing her skin, his hands holding her throat and hip. Deliciously overpowering her.

But in an instant, the sensations stopped. He left her swiftly.

Her hands shook as she put them on the desk. Laboriously, she forced herself to calm her breath, while searching her mind for an explanation to what transpired in the last five minutes. 

What the hell was that?

* * *

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Bane’s referencing the “Wow! signal” received on August 15, 1977. Geek.  
> **”The Corsair” I, XI; G.G. Byron, 1814
> 
> The next chapter, called "Eid al Fitr" is nearly done. Got to smooth it over.  
> Guess what's coming! :D


	10. Eid al Fitr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, me hearties!  
> I'm on my fourth glass of wine, Hubby is out playing Warhammer (it's past midnight already!), so I thought what the heck. no point delaying this chapter. It's Saturday, lets have fun.
> 
> I hope you'll find it fun...
> 
> Let me know!

* * *

* * *

 

Helena didn't want to get up the next morning. Starting her day meant she would sit to work at her desk. Where she lost control so spectacularly. 

Bane could come in for a repeat performance anytime, too.

No, this would not do, she sighed. She needed to clear her head. Shooting could help achieving that as it did before... 

But once more, it involved interacting with the infuriating mercenary.  

She would have to leave the compound with him. Alone. In the car. Away.

She sat on the bed. That didn't look so gloom, come to think of it again.

She spent her day as usual; there was no sight of Bane. Not even on the courtyard. She didn't hear him leave. It didn't mean he was still at the compound. Then again, she suspected he might be less conspicuous if he went away right after inviting her to his bed in a straightforward manner. 

Or maybe not to bed. On the sofa. Or maybe desk. A chair. Floor? Wall? Shower?

Mind racing, she shook her head to focus. She needed to contact him. Asking guards about him seemed somewhat crude. So, what else was available? 

Her gaze dropped to the desk. Rare full-fledged grin bloomed on her face.

There was one method of communication available that ensured basic privacy and utmost civility. She congratulated herself on the idea with a cigarette.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

The chapel was bathed in darkness, islands of dim light too distant from each other and too weak to dispel it. Ancient walls housed servers, computers, radios, and other electronics indispensable for a band of mercenaries.  

Bane observed, without stuttering on debriefing Birdman and Barsad, as James came into the control room. The guard should be elsewhere at this hour. Occupied with keeping his scribe focused on her work.

He nodded to younger man as he stood to a halt respectable distance away, waiting for his leader to finish. His lieutenants each spared a glance, too, but eventually they all settled for another minute of talking.

Then, he waved James over to join them.

“I have correspondence for you,” James said. In sparse lights of former chapel, his eyes seemed to sparkle with mirth. But his mouth stayed firmly pressed in a line.

A tad too firmly for Bane’s liking.

The letter was small in mercenary’s hands. A rectangle of paper with his name written beautifully on one side and, he’ll be damned if it wasn’t a wax seal on the other. 

He stuffed it carelessly in one of multiple pockets of his cargo pants, “Thank you. Go back to your duties.”

The paper burned him through the thick fabric.

Barsad was the first to smile. 

“Come on, brother, it's not every day you get a letter delivered in here.”

Bane glared at him. “Not every day you're this close to losing a limb. What of it though?”

Birdman handed him something in an outstretched palm.

A folding knife.

“Either way, it will come in handy in the next few minutes,” he smirked.

The masked man scoffed, took the tool. Produced the letter back from the depths of his pockets.

All three hunched over to take a closer look.

The seal was simple beeswax, pressed with something formed to represent an intricate ‘H’. On the other side of the packet his name, his title, was written in an elegant hand with sparse embellishments. It resembled something Bane saw, but couldn't pinpoint. 

He opened the knife.

“Don't cut through the paper,” Birdman cautioned, “If she stuck to the letter to what people used to do, then you'd slash through the text. It should be enough if you crack the seal.”

Bane looked down at the object in his hands. He tried prying the seal away with tip of the blade, but the wax bonded with the paper. He didn't want to destroy it. 

But then again, it was the first letter he had ever received. He wanted to see the contents.

“So, you want me to do it?” Barsad asked impatiently. An insolent smirk ghosted over his lips.

Bane handed him the letter.

“Be my guest.”

He made himself slouch forward nonchalantly, elbows on knees, head hunched in concentration. Letting himself be robbed of the excitement of opening the letter wasn't easy. He did feel too invested as it was, so detaching himself from the message should help in keeping his mind clear.

Satisfying snap reverberated through the air, then rustle of unfolded sheets.

Bane swallowed, his throat parched suddenly.

Silence.

“Well?” He looked up. 

Both his second in commands furrowed their brows in futile attempt to decipher contents of the message.

“I can't read it,” Barsad admitted, handing the letter back to Bane with a chagrined sneer. “Is it some kind of a code?”

Bane took one glance and immediately recognized the hand that seemed vaguely familiar when it spelled only his name. 

“Yes and no,” he murmured reading the message.

It was only one sentence.

He laughed then, an echoing, altered sound, unmistakable and uncommon.  

People around stopped their work, staring bemused at their leader.

“Does anyone have a red pen?”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Knock at the door was short and curt. Helena twisted her head to look, arm braced over the chair. 

Who could it be?

“Come in, please.”

The handle turned, hinges squealed lightly and in came the medic. She tried not to show the disappointment that flooded her. Well, Bane wouldn't knock anyway, she reasoned to herself.

“Good afternoon.” A slight incline of his head. He stood a step away from open door, legs shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back. Respectful.

“Hello Barsad,” she eyed him suspiciously. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes, but his demeanour was stoic, face nearly blank. She couldn't think of a reason for him to visit her.

“I was told to give you this, and wait for a response,” he said, more than a trace of smugness in his voice, “Should you want to write a reply, that is.”

She got up from the desk and reached to take the same letter she had sent to Bane earlier.

Inside was scribbled in red. She huffed an outraged breath, cheeks puffing out in brief annoyance.

“Condescending dick,” she murmured.

“Excuse me?”

“Bane.” She didn't look up from the letter. “I said he's a condescending dick.”

As she turned back to the desk, her lips quirked in a lopsided smile.

“So, no reply?”

“Oh, au contraire, my friend. There will be one hell of a reply. You might want to sit, though, it will take me a while to finish.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

As fun as it was to wait for a reply from the scribe, Bane had matters to tend to. A report came in, eating up most of his evening with attempts at rectifying the situation at hand. Somewhere during the impromptu staff meeting, Barsad came back, but none of them had time to dabble in frivolous things.

The conclusion was obvious and made his mood sour. He had to go. 

An unfortunate turn of events, he mused, scaling the courtyard on the way to his chambers. Reflexively, he looked up. There was still light on in the scribe’s room. He patted the pocket on his vest, hiding the letter.

Soon.

He didn’t need much light to read, so he put on only one lamp. Sitting on the sofa, he caressed the paper. Soft, yet firm. The seal was put on anew, overlapping slightly over the old one. Pressing with his fingers he snapped it open, anticipation tingling in his palms. 

The original message, a simple sentence in Latin was still in the middle with his corrections and commentary on the right corner. Helena’s response was written in the same hand, Leonardo da Vinci's mirror writing, scribbled on the left. 

He grinned. What would it take for her to agree to learn proper Latin from him?

For a while he just enjoyed the touch of the letter in his hands, possibilities unfolding before him. This was a moment he felt truly carefree. He didn’t remember many instances like that in his past.

Incoming trip to Niger seemed inconsequential.

He sighed, leaning back and bending his head to look at the ceiling in dim light. Inconsequential, but necessary.  
  


* * *

* * *

 

 

Helena looked at the letter, a bit astonished.

She expected Bane to be amused by her little act, but not to play along like he did. 

She recalled what she first wrote.

‘Would you let me go shoot again?’

One sentence, in, as it turned out, heavily faulted Latin.  

He scribbled his corrections in a concise, neat hand, along with a commentary. She toiled over its meaning.

‘I will grant you your wish, but I expect a compensation.’

‘What would you have me do?’

She expected another round of corrections, but he sent her a new letter. Sealed with, and she did giggle when she noticed, butt of the .300 Win Mag shell. One from a bullet snipers often use.

The contents of the letter made her sit down on the bed, impact from the sole sentence as big as a blow.

English, as to avoid any misunderstandings, she gathered.

‘Wait for me.’ 

She did wait then. Drudging three weeks over the books. Looking over the courtyard, hoping to see him, every day.

She did get her excursion out shooting, to her surprise. Barsad came and went with her, chatting amiably the whole way. She shot three full magazines, shells littering the ground where she laid, head full of advice. She didn’t expect how knowledgeable he’d be. 

But he did not compare, she thought. She wished she could go out shooting with Bane again. She wished he would come by for a chat.

Days went by in a pace of a snail. Work was at the end. 

She was out on the battlements, braving rain, stubbornly exposing herself to the elements, when he finally came back. She watched as the cars approached, as he alighted, and to her amazement, as he immediately looked over to her empty, dark window.

She smoked her last cigarette that night, waiting for him.

He never came.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Something was happening, and she didn’t know what it was or why. It seemed like mercenaries were getting ready for a festival of some sorts. Men talked louder, smiled easier and laughed more often. Helena noticed stacks of wood growing beside walls of the chapel. Obviously, they were readying for something. Aromatic air from the kitchen seemed constant now. The courtyard was busier than usual, the anticipation hung heavy in the air.

Then, one afternoon, Helena watched the Muslim Brotherhood walk out in a procession, followed by some men. They returned after half an hour or so.

Then, the festivities begun.

Marco was guarding her on that day, and he didn’t try concealing his bitterness over the fact. Helena stood at the window, observing.

She sought Bane.

His grand silhouette appeared here and there, mingling with the crowd, socializing, bestowing pats and nods around.

It was disturbing, in a way. The camaraderie. The normalcy.

She went to work, to distract herself from the question, why didn’t he visit with her still.

She did wait.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

He came for her when the early night fell over the monastery.

Wordlessly gestured to her to follow him. Guided her through the crowd of revelling mercenaries on the courtyard, up to the other building. To his turret.

They wandered the empty corridors in silence. 

Cheering voices echoed faintly from the outside, remnants of a party that moved elsewhere littered abandoned halls as they strolled towards double door at the end of the hallway.  She knew exactly where he was taking her, and against her better judgment, she felt her stomach knot.  

Confidently he pushed massive doors apart, as if they were nothing more than a pair of curtains. Hinges complained loudly, but they gave them no heed as they walked past. She looked around curiously, noting minutia of the decor, so telling of the occupant’s character and preferences.

One wall was dedicated to books, sturdy shelves stretching over to the ceiling. The windows looked over a long desk, littered with papers. In the middle there was a sofa, facing the door. Some tables with trinkets stood around. Chess set, a telescope, a globe, intricately ornate chest.

A door loomed over on the opposite side of the room, slightly ajar, showing corner of a massive bed. 

Bane carefully shut the passage to his chambers, locking it with a loud bang.

“Do you think that's really necessary?” Amusement obvious in her tone, Helena toyed with a chess piece while peeking at him quizzically.

He didn't reply, instead slowly strode towards her. His fingers danced delicately on the surface of the chess board.

“Do you play?”

“Poorly.”

“Would you chance a round with me?”

“Wouldn't that be a pointless exercise? I don't think I'm any match for your strength… tactical or otherwise.“ She used that opportunity to rake her eyes over him shamelessly.

“That never stopped you from trying to gain the upper hand on me before.”

She smiled, almost genuinely, and gingerly put the piece back on the board.

“But I never actually did.”

“Let's see what can be done here, then!”

Several hours later, the voices of the party died down to occasional song drifting up on damp night breeze from one of the bonfires in the yard.

Bane stared intensely at the board, forehead resting on his hands. He was losing, and wasn't sure why. It grated on him, especially since she really did play chess rather poorly. Her decisions were erratic and unexpected, far from regimented canons he himself preferred. Nevertheless, she managed to gradually wear his defences thin, and turn him on a defensive mode. He wasn't accustomed to that.

“Could we finish some other time?” 

He looked up right when she suffered through apparently jaw wrenching yawn. 

“I'm sorry, but I don't think I can manage to make any more moves without falling asleep instead of thinking on the game. And I have to get to my cot somehow.”

His eyes crinkled slightly as he straightened up in his chair. Slowly he put his hands on the back of his head, enjoying the sensation of adjusting his spine back to its proper position.

“You won't be going back there tonight.”

She regarded him coldly.

“Do I get to know why not?”

“We both know why.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he anticipated her questions. “I want to keep an eye on you myself. It's the one night everyone gets to enjoy after all. Can't have my men sacrificing that, only to watch our only prisoner.”

Her chest heaved with a sigh. Involuntarily, his eyes were drawn to shapely mounds of her breasts discreetly moving under her blouse. He lowered them back to the board almost immediately.

Nervously, she licked her lips.

“Where would you have me sleep then?”

Bane extended both hands in a wide gesture, apparently grinning behind the grille of his mask.

“My chambers are yours for tonight.”

She was uncertain of his motives and meaning, confusion clearly written on her face.

“Thank you.” Graceful dip of her head. “Would you mind if I retired now, then?”

“Of course not.” 

They both got up at the same time.

“Right,” she awkwardly shuffled towards the bedroom, but changed route after only a few steps. “Umm, I think I will be quite comfortable on the sofa.”

He observed amused as she glanced around looking for blankets that were not there. After a minute, her shoulder slumped and she turned to him, exasperated.

“Okay, you win. Where do you want me?”

He suppressed pang of lust gnawing his abdomen at her suggestive wording. Gallantly bowed, left hand stretched towards bedroom door. “I would suggest the most comfortable quarters as the only appropriate choice for my guest.”

“Uh huh.” She didn't even try to hide roll of her eyes.

He followed closely behind as she made her way where he pointed.  

“And where would that leave you?,” she opened the door herself and stalked straight to the bed.

Again, he ignored her question. Seeing her in his room seemed at once alien and perfectly natural. She looked around, her face expressionless. Bedroom was mostly empty, with only the bed, simple armoire and a chair. Walls painted indigo blue seemed almost black, since the only light came from adjoining room’s lamp light filtering through the door and faint glow of the moon through the window.

She sat on the bed, bathed in incandescent bluish shimmer. Bane strolled towards her, until his knees almost bumped into hers. She looked up. His mind raced to unwelcome images, possibilities he thought absurd. Yet, his eyes flashed as he savoured their peculiar state now.

His options were endless, yet he was hesitant to explore any of them. She sat deceptively calm, stoic statue he grew fond of. He knew she wasn't really calm or collected, but they both pretended anyway. This subtle back and forth was addicting - and he wasn't sure that was good for him or his plans right now.

“You should find everything you need in the bathroom.”

With that he turned around and left, closing the door behind him.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

She woke in the middle of the night. Padded barefoot to the door. Bane was sitting by the chessboard, eyes boring into the piece’s frozen mid-game.

“Go back to sleep,” he said.

She watched him for a minute, until he raised his eyes directly at her.

He looked tired.

“Go,” he repeated softly.

She turned, climbed back between warm covers. Covers that smelled of the man who terrorized and killed. Who loved books and science. Who she was growing more and more fond of, despite everything that happened. 

Despite everything he put her through.

She curled in a ball, trying to dispel the chill that ran along her spine.

She woke again, sometime later. Still dark. She heard a shower running behind a wall, soft padding of bare feet, rustle of cloth. Tossing languidly in toasty sheets, she contemplated getting up again.

Too dangerous, she decided after a while. She might not resist a temptation to get closer this time.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Before she opened her eyes, Helena liked to stretch and toss on the bed, just to see if maybe sleep would come to her again, like it did so many times during last night. This time was no different, apart from the fact that for the first time in weeks she was immersed in sinfully pleasant linens. She enjoyed their smooth glide on her skin for a few seconds before she finally decided to start her day. To her surprise, it was still dark outside. 

Sighing softly, hands gently running up and down her chest, she turned to the other side and froze midway.

Her eyes met bleary-eyed Bane, lying in the middle of the bed. She swallowed reflexively, her throat constricted with surprise.

“Good morning,” she croaked quietly.

He just hummed, the sound at once normal and foreign. She never imagined she would actually see him in such intimate setting. His eyes closed for a few seconds. She relaxed her muscles, abandoning her previous thought to lie on her side, since she would be facing him then. Her left hand stayed trapped at her breasts for the time being.

“Don't stop on my account, my dear.“ His expression relaxed, Bane smiled at her lazily. There was however a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Despite herself, Helena clenched her muscles. She shouldn't feel pang of desire that just washed through her stomach and down. Involuntarily, she sucked on her lower lip. Bane just lay there, observing. She imagined continuing with him right there. 

Thought that should be revolting made her cream between her thighs.

That's your captor, you idiot! she frantically reminded herself.

“I think I'll just get back to sleep,” she managed after few discreet calming breaths. She turned her back to him, praying he would follow her suggestion as well.

“Coward.”

Mechanical rasp of his perfectly accented voice cut through the silence like a slash on her back. She tensed visibly, knees tightly pressed together.

“Would you have me pleasuring myself just to amuse you?” She tried to sound detached and mocking, but he probably saw through her bluff anyway. “That seems boring and unimaginative, especially for you.”

He scoffed. 

She felt the mattress dip, as he pushed his way closer. His breath ghosted at the back of her head.

“You wound me,” she had to admit, but he was far better than her at drenching his voice in mockery, “I would happily assist. You need just ask.”

Suddenly, she felt too warm, from the sheets, from her desire and from his body, too close, radiating heat. Her legs shuffled slightly, and she bumped into his strong shin with her foot. Little contact that it was, it made her shiver slightly.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

He lay bewildered, not really believing she took his half-hearted attempt at unsavoury humour seriously.  Her back to him, she seemed too taut and stiff, while just minutes ago, her body still heavy from sleep, was welcoming and relaxed. 

He didn't expect her to move the way she did, sneaky fingers playing with her flesh only shadow of the movement reflected by the covers. For a moment, it seemed natural to just watch her, and he felt unfamiliar disappointment when she tensed. Reflexively, he mocked her attacking when his footing was unsure.

But then, that surprising ‘okay’.

He hummed silently, wondering what would be the best course of action. His hand slowly wandered from the middle of her back up, and again down. Her muscles relaxed a bit, and she angled her head down, exposing more of vulnerable neck.

Bane felt his confusion dissipating, replaced by gradually blooming lust. She offered herself, and he wasn't one to turn down such a gesture.

He closed small distance that still separated their bodies. Helena couldn't suppress sharp gasp at the sudden movement. He groaned in response right when their hips met. The pressure on his hardening cock was delicious. He felt her gentle stirring all over his front, and he gladly pressed himself flush to her as his left hand sneaked to her breasts.

“So, how may I help?,” he murmured.

She sneered into the pillow. “Do you want me to instruct you step by step?”

He rolled his hips, squeezed at soft fullness beneath his palm.

“Exactly. Tell me what you want me to do to you, and I will.”

Her breath hitched. “What about you, do your wishes come to the picture as well?”

He delicately rubbed cold tubing of his mask on her neck. “I am a man of simple needs.” He nearly moaned when her hand sneaked unceremoniously to his buttocks. 

“Tell me, what would you have done if you wouldn't have stopped just then.”

“First, I would slide my hands over my skin, just to wake up the nerve endings…” 

She sighed contently as he did just that, lightly sliding his left hand under her top. Her nipples perked under his palms, and every muscle that he touched spasmed slightly. He never stopped rubbing his mask on her neck and shoulders.

“Ah, then I would play with my boobs…“ 

Bane shifted and sneaked other hand beneath her to reach both her breasts at the same time. He revelled in her willingness, listening to her moans as he expertly kneaded her, pinched and massaged. She ground her hips on his, unashamed, one hand still clutching him greedily.

He let himself enjoy her for few minutes, dexterous fingers playing with her front, while they found rhythm at rubbing in painfully slow circles. 

“Are you wet for me?”

She moaned, strained her head back to look at him out of the corner of her eye. “I don't know… Now might be a good time to check.”

He snickered under his breath, appreciating her humour. His right hand moved to the front of her neck as he scooted closer again. She opened her legs a fraction, which he immediately used, sliding his knee between them. His left palm sneaked down, surely, to her panties. For a while he toyed at the hem, noting how she squeezed her legs to try and relieve some of the tension.

“Tell me how you want me to do this.”

“No,” she gasped, “It's embarrassing.”

“You're grinding into my dick, sweetheart,” he huffed, “Not that I'm complaining, but that is a somewhat counterintuitive thing to say.”

Her hand left his thigh then, and she drew in a calming breath.

A pause.

He waited, patiently, as if he had all the time in the world. As if he didn’t want to press her down and ride her until the end.

“Lay your palm on top of my panties, and just press there lightly.”

His eyebrows shot up in puzzlement, but he did what she asked nonetheless. Immediately she keened, as he rested his hand over her cunt. He felt her juices drenching soft cotton of her undergarments.

“Just like that… Now, rub in circles.” 

Amused, he did just that, surprised that simple movement resulted in her wantonly moaning and stretching out. His cock swelled at the sight.

“Ah, now…” She moaned, bit her lips. “Put your fingers in me.”

“And where would that be, huh?” He contemplated, foregoing rubbing on her with his palm for slowly tracing her nether lips with the middle finger.

“Bane…”

“Tell me exactly.”

She swallowed, closed her eyes.

“Put your fingers in my cunt.”

He slipped one hand inside her panties, testing her wet folds gingerly. Circled her opening.

“How many?”

“What…?,” she gasped.

“How many of my fingers you want in your pretty little cunt?“ He kept maddeningly circling her vagina, seemingly oblivious to her attempts at centring him in the bullseye. She panted loudly, her breath coming in gasps and moans, making his blood boil.

“One, for start…” She clutched at his right arm as he inserted one digit inside. Her walls gripped him in slippery hold, and he wondered if he could contain himself until the end. 

He moved his hand, careful to rub the ball of his palm on her clit.

“Yes, right there!” He put pads of his right hand at her lips, to better feel her laboured wet pants. His eyes closed, he imagined himself scaling expanse of her back with his mouth.

“More…,” she moaned, breaking him out of his daydream, “Give me another finger!“

As she spoke, he slipped a second finger along the first, picking up the pace. His mind was in a haze. Suddenly, he felt her tongue on his right hand’s index finger. She licked it, moaning and relentlessly grinding her back into his cock. Desperate to feel him. Then she took it into her mouth. Sucking in time with his hand fucking her pussy, and their hips mashing together.

It was perfect. Both his hands were drenched as he pushed into her, moaning and grunting. His head felt engulfed in a pleasurable fog.

“Bane…”

He slowed, ears perked to her next request.

“I want you.”

He stilled. Her hips still rolled into him, even as his hands slipped out of her mouth.

He moved away and shifted to his knees. Helena leaned on her outstretched arms to rise as well, but his hand between her shoulder blades stopped her instantly.

“Stay on your knees.”

The way she stiffened in anticipation didn’t escape his notice. He marvelled over the depravity of this situation. Hovering at the precipice of a boundary he set for himself long time ago, he eyed his prey. Palms splayed possessively over round bottom, he used his thumbs to spread her core for a better view. He knew she was sopping wet from before, but seeing her now expectant, and hearing the low keening from her throat had him lightheaded. 

Gulping over the tightness in his throat, he guided the head of his cock over her entrance. Relished the way she gripped the sheets, moaning into the pillow. 

This, money couldn't buy.

He watched as his body entered hers.

Oh, yes…

The shiver that ran through her back echoed in his abdomen in a pleasant tingle. He joined her in a satisfied groan.

He was deliberate in first few thrusts, testing her limits, trying to imprint onto himself the exact rhythm and angle that made her elicit the most delicious moans. He let himself drown in the experience, his movements getting more urgent by the second.

She giggled then.

He stopped.

“Oh please, don’t stop…”

“Stay still,” he ordered.

Why on Earth would she laugh in the middle…?

He panted quick, shallow breaths, his palms still on her perked bottom, bewildered.

Obediently not moving, she just waited for him. It was a haze of an evening, pleasure mounting gradually, until here she was, on her knees, pleasured by the man whom had her at his mercy, in ways more than one. She wanted more. Delight danced on her skin like an electric current. She hadn't felt that way in a long time.

“Can I have you inside me again?”

Movement fluid like water, he grabbed her by the hips and pulled to him, still kneeling.

“Say ‘please.’” She heard the smile in his voice. Couldn't suppress her own.

“Please fuck me now.”

He almost growled, desire again like fire in his belly, coiling up his spine. Moving away, he forced her down, on her back, positioned himself on his knees between her stretched thighs. Feasting his eyes with her dishevelled look, he grabbed her right leg under the knee, twisting up, opening her for him. He wanted to lose himself in her welcoming heat, watch her unravel before his eyes. His cock rested at her opening, teasing them both, gliding lightly, moistened with her juices.

Bane straightened and steadied himself with his right hand.

“Open your eyes now.”

As she did, he pushed inside once again, stretching her wet cunt with his hard length. It was heavenly, the way her hips flexed to take him deeper, how her eyes flashed and almost instantly closed back in rapture. Her palms knotted the sheets, lean muscles straining under the onslaught he brought on her body. 

He moved steady and hard. His cock pushing into her until their hips met, he finished each movement with his pelvis grinding into her. He felt his balls clench. 

It was time to finish this delicious torture.

Pushing forward he let his body follow the movement of his hips until he was half lying on top of her. His massive body crowded her, never stopping the thrusts he wrought on hers. Pace quickened to a demanding level he snapped their hips sharply together, every thrust calculated to push them both closer to the edge.

Arm resting on the elbow, he sneaked his left palm into the back of her head, grabbed her by the hair.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

She did instantly, biting on her lips, trying to muffle the sounds she made.

His other hand steadied her hips, so he could keep drilling into her forcefully. When she started to slip her eyelids shut again, he snarled, yanking hard on her hair. 

“Keep your eyes on me.”

Helena moaned obscenely, her hands flew to his biceps to anchor her closer. He was controlling and demanding, and she felt as if she never felt arousal as intense ever before in her life. She fought to keep her gaze on him, raking nails through his skin every time he ground up into her.

He bore his eyes into her, furrowing his brows, body drenched in sweat from the exertion. His cock buried as deep as it would go he felt invincible. Release built almost to the bursting point. Sliding between her thighs effortlessly, considering her unfocused eyes in building light of the dawn was oddly peaceful. 

He was mesmerized in the act.

And then she came.

Her moans stopped, and as he kept looking, her irises expanded and then rapidly shrunk. He felt her nails sharply press into his sweaty skin, legs clenching impossibly around him, her pussy milking his cock in a grip tighter than he thought possible. His ears were ringing, and halfway in he realized he also came, kept coming, hips reflexively thrusting, bringing them both higher for a few seconds more.

All through it, she never took her eyes from his.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

They lay on the bed after, side by side. 

Room got brighter each second with the Sun slowly rising above the mountains. Bane got up with a grunt, padded naked to the bathroom.

Helena just stayed still, musing what just happened, what the consequences might be. She wanted him, she wanted him to fuck her. So there wasn't any conflict about it in her mind. But the fact that he could do with her anything he wanted… That might get even more dangerous now. 

She sat up, pulling the sheets to her chest. Sitting in his bedroom felt surreal. Being there naked after bout of exquisite, mind-blowing sex was indescribable. 

For a fleeting moment she thought he’d be violent or cruel. She felt relieved and pleasantly surprised that he turned out to be just perfect, manly, strong and oh so very capable. 

It still felt somewhat weird to think of him as a person instead of a monster. 

Man, with needs.

She wondered briefly who did he fulfil those needs with until now.

As she mused, he emerged back from the bathroom nursing a half full glass of water. Stalking his way to her he looked unnervingly bashful, as she took him in with a smirk.

“That was good. Thank you,” she nodded gratefully as he passed her the glass. 

Bane sat, irritation ghosting over his mind. Was it the water she thanked for, or something else? He wouldn't stoop to asking about that. 

But there was another thing he felt the need to be inquisitive about.

“Why did you laugh?”   

“Because I felt good,“ she peeked at him, sliding a bit closer, trying to get a look at his eyes. He was gazing through the window, hunched over, elbows on knees. Shut in.

“Did you think I was laughing at you?”

He snapped his head to face her.  “Were you?”

”I wouldn't dare!” Maddeningly, she laughed out loud. 

He knitted his brows, not amused.

“Was my performance unsatisfying?“

She sobered, slid even closer, to rest a hand against his thigh. 

“Listen, I'll only say it once. I might be having mild Stockholm Syndrome moment right now, but that was great sex I wouldn't mind repeating.”

They stared at each other awkwardly. 

Both grasped exactly what they said during the last minute, equally stupefied.

“Right…”

“Very well…”

She took her hand away, leaving him irritated again. He, too, wouldn't mind repeating what they just did, and it grated on him. He just had her, and yet he was thinking on grabbing her hand to put it on his cock, lifting her from his bed to take her against the wall. 

He missed her wanton throaty moans. He didn't need distraction, yet he craved her again.

Hiding his anger, he got up to get dressed.

“Prepare for the day. I will escort you to your room now.”

* * *

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Did you like it?
> 
> Next chapter, "Bliss", coming soon.


	11. Certain Degree of Folly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo!
> 
> This chapter contains barely any plot. If you’re put out by smut endure another few days, because the next one is already written. Almost all plot, for a change. :)
> 
> The realization I’m at the last stretch of this story is getting to me. I don’t really want to finish it, it’s so much fun to write! But then again, it’s not nice to leave things hanging. And I can hardly help myself from posting everything as soon as it’s back from my fantastic ThreeDots! 
> 
> Btw, anyone else waiting for new chapter of “ADX-Florence” or “Losing Touch”? I swear, I’m dying to see what’s going to happen next! Curse those writers, who update once a year!
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy ‘The Scribe and the Beast’. ;)  
> Only four more chapters to go… 

* * *

* * *

 

As the days passed, Bane kept his distance. He focused on work; going out on two short missions with new recruits, catching up on science articles when he got back. Filling his time with exercise whenever he got restless in between.

Yet, every time he looked at the chessboard, his mind shot back to the night he shared with Helena, desire echoing faintly in his bones. 

He didn't want it.

Meditation helped, so he took on additional two hours of it every day, sacrificing his sleep. Until he caught himself one early morning ‘meditating’ with his hand on his cock to the memory brought back by exactly the same hue of light as the time they came together. 

He stormed out to his study, noting how the chess board was still intact, pieces frozen in the middle of the game. Reminding him of his near failure.

Restlessness was unhealthy. He needed to resolve this tension.

He would have to get her out of his system.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Helena finished the initial of another chapter with a satisfied sigh. There were less and less things to write or paint, most of the time she worked on the cover and did some touch ups of already existing pages. She missed days when all she had to do was write day in and out. So simple and satisfying, just like what she did right now. Perfect ‘P’, surrounded by delicately bent acant leaves, under which peaked textured indigo background. The same colour that adorned walls of Bane’s bedroom. 

She smiled as she remembered yet again how hot he was during their night together. Squeezing her thighs involuntarily, she felt wetness seeping out; state she lived in almost constantly since that glorious fuck. She wanted more, and chastised herself every time she caught herself looking for Bane’s hulking body between the men on the courtyard. She longed to feel all that mass on top of her again. 

At the same time she knew exactly why it was a bad, very bad idea to get into his bed again. More than once she saw how his man scurried to drive out in a hurry for a task that saw them come back bloodied and bruised. She knew what they all did. She knew it was causing despair and anguish.

But then, she warmed inside every time her mind drifted to him. Seeing him between her legs or imagining how it must have looked when he took her from behind. While she begged and moaned. How it would look if he had her again, under the shower, or maybe on the desk, or bent over the sofa…

Knocking on the door put her out of her reverie and she shifted, uncomfortable in her drenched underwear. She didn't bother turning after answering ‘come in’, knowing whoever it was would come anyway. She got back to her work.

Footsteps echoed in the room but she gave them no heed, used to curious peeks over her shoulder. She kept working silently, painstakingly calligraphing the letters. When she moved the pen to the side to wash it, strong hands came down to her sides, pulling her delicately out of the chair.

Why, it was Bane.

Before she could think about it, Helena smiled.

His eyes crinkled from above his mask as he cheerfully announced, “I need your assistance in a delicate matter. Would you accompany me to my chambers?”

She managed only a nod, before he whisked her away, scaling the corridors in long strides. She trotted behind, encouraged by his chipper ‘Come along’, wondering how she managed to get under his skin like this.

It's was uncharacteristic, the way he fidgeted, how he seemed hyper aware of the distance separating them, especially since he put so much effort into avoiding her for weeks. 

They arrived at the door, got in, and once again loud bang of the lock seemed to seal Helena’s fate.

Bane stood just looking at her, measuring. She could see his chest rise a tad faster than usual, eyes roaming over her body, fingers twitching. 

In a frenzy they jumped to each other. Hands clawing at clothes, Helena's hungry lips instantly pressed to his exposed neck. He groaned, lifted her up, and practically threw her on the sofa. Shedding his form hugging shirt he kneeled before her. For a few seconds he just watched her, unclasping his belt, relished in the urgency painted on her face. He strained to stay still and focused on remembering that, for later.

She was still mostly dressed, so he remedied that by yanking at her blouse. Sleeveless top came off next, then bra, and he stilled hands on her hips, thumbs slightly circling delicately protruding bones. 

She whimpered.

“I've been wet for you for days.”

Shocked, he pressed her closer, palms sliding beneath her pants to knead her ass. Her breasts brushed his chest, and he felt like he couldn't wait any longer. He took her pants off, opened his fly.

And then stopped, with a glint in his eye.

She waited for his move, licking her lips. Laughed as he lifted her up, only to reverse their positions. She straddled his lap, undoubtedly leaving a conspicuous stain on his dark cargo pants. His hands rested on the headboard, splayed out like a relaxed cat.

“Ride me.”

He watched as she reached to his groin, but then hesitated. Instead of just going in for the prize, she sneaked her palms up his muscled thighs, sliding herself closer, and arching her front towards him. His breath hitched. She licked her lips, fully aware he was watching every minute movement. Her left hand dived between her legs, right one gently massaged him through the thick fabric of his pants.

It was an exquisite torture to Bane. One he didn’t really mind.

He watched as she rubbed her clit, steadily drenching the fabric covering his leg. Her other hand on her breasts, she sent him a needy look. 

His hands gripped the headboard so hard the wood underneath the padding cracked.

They were both panting heavily when she finally reached back to his pants. Change in pressure as she uncovered his cock gave him a rush that made his head fall back on its own accord. He felt Helena positioning herself above him, soft lips pressed to his jugular. Then she sunk onto his throbbing shaft. 

He let himself just experience the feeling of her willing soft body gently working his cock to release. It was lazy and sensual, and very selfish. Bane smiled as her hands explored his torso then travelled down onto his arms, kneading muscles, testing their hardness. He felt dizzy. Her mouth fell back on his neck, moist and open as she worked herself faster over him. 

Finally he looked back at the woman, his cock hardening impossibly at the sight. Her eyes looked glazed over as she shifted back, watching him, and wantonly fucked herself on top of him. He looked down at her cunt gripping his flesh, saw how wet she became in those short few minutes.

‘I've been wet for you for days.’ Oh, he believed her. Bit his lip thinking of all the possibilities that evaded him these last weeks because of his own stubbornness. 

She clenched internal muscles around him, releasing a loud moan. Bringing his mind back to the task at hand in an instant.

It was obscene. 

He loved it. 

His hands reached up to his mask. 

“Close your eyes.”

She looked at him, at the brink of release, pushed closer to ride him at different angle. Her face was centimetres apart from his when she grinned. 

“No.”

He furrowed his brows. Stilled her lewd movement with his hands on her hips. 

“Do you think this is a game?” Angry, he let himself one short thrust up, fooling himself it's not for her. She gasped, clenched around him in pleasure. 

“Close your eyes or I'll be done with you.” Even as the words left his mouth, he didn't believe them himself. 

She couldn't stop involuntarily grinding into him, and he felt her juices flowing down his cock. He was incredibly aroused, as was she, with the danger of this situation. None wanted to stand down, and yet they both could devour each other at the same time.

“I want you to lick my pussy with that mouth, Bane.” 

He gave in again, fucked up into her, once. 

“I want you to do that again.” 

Another thrust, and he forcefully slammed her down on his cock. 

Wanton gasp echoed with a shiver through his abdomen.

This was travesty. He wanted more.

“I want you to make me come with your mouth on mine, and your cock in my cunt.”

He actually whimpered at the image, so close to completion. So close to making it true.

He couldn't let her see.

“You will be repulsed by me,” he grunted.

He gave her the opportunity to move on him, which she gladly accepted. Riding him freely for a while, judging his mood behind those words, she watched him. 

It was dispassionate, just a fact, a passing comment he threw as he enjoyed her cunt. 

He felt her legs tremble; exhausted by the strenuous exercise she put them through.

“I don't care,” she told him truthfully. “I want to come.” She pushed harder on his lap, pressed close to him again. “Make me come.”

And then a breathy “Please.”

She stopped, looking intent. He could feel every inch of her dripping pussy. Longed to do just what she asked of him.

For a second nothing happened. Both of them weighing their options.

Then she grabbed his hands, making him hold onto her as she rode him again. “Fuck me.” 

The sensation was unbelievable as she frantically nipped, licked and moaned, bouncing on him insistently all the time. 

Pressure built to the boiling point and stayed there. 

He knew what was happening and so did she, but she kept moving over him, kissing him wherever she could reach. 

If nothing changed, their arousal would falter and fall, too pent up for too long time to reach climax just like that.

Bane smiled, an idea forming and solidifying in seconds. 

“You didn't close your eyes.” 

She looked at him surprised. 

“That was very… Naughty,“ with the last word, his palm connected sharply with her buttocks. 

He was delighted when she shrieked and giggled, her cunt telling him exactly how much she liked it. He hit her one more time, to the same effect. 

Urgency got back into their movements, and she pleaded with him to smack her again. 

“Oh no, my dear, it doesn't work that way.” He pulled her mouth to his neck, fucking up into her heat in forceful short thrusts. 

He felt shivers running through her body as she came, moaning into the kiss she sucked onto his skin, still thrusting herself onto his hard cock. 

It was perfect and he let himself go, using her body for few last brutal thrusts. His hands gripped her thighs hard. Then, he moved them to her ass, to aggressively take everything she could give him. 

The sensation was like drowning, gasping for breath even as he shot his come into her welcoming body.

Afterwards, she stayed on top of him, spent and content, while Bane looked at the ceiling with glassy eyes.

He felt happy.

“We never finished the game,” her muffled voice reached him from around his neck. Little breaths danced on his skin there. 

He hummed in response. 

“My hair is tangled, “ she complained.

“I will brush it for you.”

She straightened with a soft whimper. “It’s all sweaty too.”

“I will wash it then.”

“I'm thirsty.”

“I will bring you water.”

He stood up with her in his arms, slowly walking to the bathroom. Once there, he left her at the shower entrance, going in himself to start the spray. He gingerly shuffled her closer once the water was hot enough. 

She let him wash her body, taking pleasure in doing the same for him.

“I should not want you.”

“I know.” He dipped her head under the shower then carefully worked a lather in with the soap. “And yet you do.”

“Yes,” she breathed, nipples sliding slickly across his chest as she stepped closer. “You want me, too.“

“Indeed.” 

He could feel his cock spring to life again, tried to ignore her fingers splaying possessively on his stomach and back. 

“I've decided it's best to indulge.” He turned her around, placed her hands on the wall. “Overexposure will eventually lead to satisfaction of the craving, and then the desire will fade.”

She smiled, head resting sideways on the tile. “I hope you’re right”.

Before he could answer or even move, they were interrupted with a loud banging on the big door to the suite. 

Bane straightened, listening in. 

“Wait for me in the bedroom when you finish showering.” 

Just like that, he was gone.

She wanted to stay under the warm spray for a few minutes more, but curiosity got the best of her. Wrapping herself in a towel she followed him, lurking just behind the threshold to the study. 

Barsad was there mumbling reports. Bane sat on the sofa naked, still wet, head bowed listening intently. 

She didn't understand a word of angry tirade that erupted then, but the tone of his voice made her back out closer to bed as silently as she could.

She waited for another few minutes, soft mumbling from Barsad intertwined with biting retorts from Bane.  

He seemed so peaceful just minutes ago…

Reality of her situation chilled her from within. She knew what she did, and why, but now knowing Bane had plans for them, she felt her head spin. One night together was exotic and entertaining, but now she was about to become his sex toy. 

Consort, maybe. 

Lover. 

She deliberately mused over her feelings on the matter, disassembling every emotion from fact, taking herself apart and putting together. What happened was to a point beyond her control. The kidnapping. Her imprisonment, current status notwithstanding. Then there were things she could and did do. Escapes. Dealing with Bane. Her work for him, the commission too familiar to be overlooked. The sex. She was part of everything, inched closer to what seemed to be a natural conclusion. She teased him from the beginning, fully aware of the type of man he was and the company he kept. 

I might as well enjoy myself while this lasts, she thought.

He came back fuming, barely restraining his anger. Seemed almost startled by her calm presence on the bed. 

“I have to go.”

He started putting on clothes from the armoire. Underwear, black cargo pants, socks, back brace. He turned, donned black thermal long sleeve that fitted him so tightly, she could see each and every muscle.

“You can stay here if you like.”

She smirked.

“Should I really stay here?”

His shoulders tensed, irritation visible. 

“I will not force you,” he stepped closer to her. “You can always opt out if you like.” 

From what was clearly implied. 

She cocked her head to the side. “I'll I think it would be best if I stay in my room for the time being.” 

He nodded, acknowledging this boundary. Maybe it was for the better. Maybe this would help him focus while on the compound.

Without goodbye, he turned and left.

 

* * *

* * *

 

She should just get up, return to her cell, think the situation over again. But the bathroom all to herself, unsupervised, with whole room filled with books and trinkets beckoned her to stay just a little while longer. It couldn't hurt, since she was sure Bane wouldn't be back for at least few hours. 

On her way back under the shower she rummaged through the armoire, fishing out a shirt to put on afterwards. She stayed under hot water until her fingers crinkled, relishing in hot humidity. She warmed up nicely. Laughed, when the shirt turned out to be almost long enough to cover her knees.

Sofa looked welcoming with a woolen blanket on one armrest, and a memory of their earlier bout still fresh in her mind. She considered books on the shelves by the far end of the room. Titles were organized by languages, so it was easy for her to pinpoint ones she could actually read. The amount of volumes and topics was staggering, so she settled for one classic, cover worn and tattered, she was sure she'd love to read time and time again.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Bane got back on the same evening, with the smell of smoke and blood still fresh around him. His men scurried about, silent, purposeful, arranging gear they brought back as efficiently as possible. All breathed a collective mute sigh of relief when he finally stepped away towards his lair. 

He scaled the stairs with half of a mind to change his route and detour to get Helena, but just tiredly decided against it. He lived most of his life without sex, endured tortured adolescence in prison, braved deadly training in his youth. Women always a luxury he indulged in last of all. 

He wanted her because she was close, he told himself.

Ignoring little voice in the back of his mind arguing otherwise, he entered his chambers. 

She was still there, dressed in his clothes, dozing off on the sofa. The blanket she covered herself with rode up, exposing her legs up to thighs, hinting at her coziness earlier. Bane stalked closer, inspected the book she read. 

‘Count of Monte Cristo.’

He smiled sadly. This piece he remembered by heart.

Which one of us is Edmond?, he mused.

Laying the book on the desk as he passed by, he started on his way to the shower. 

He was tired. His body was still grand and imposing, but his soul felt a hundred years old. These pesky skirmishes that occupied his time lately gradually wore him down. Long gone were the years he was eager to conquer the world barehanded. He experienced more than he cared for, lost his family, built a community, commandeered soldiers, nurtured a child to blossom into a fine warrior.  

Still, there were times he felt like an empty shell. 

As usual when he thought about Talia, his chest pierced sharp pang of regret. His darling little girl. She was his light in the pit they called home. Left him to come back with glorious revenge and promise of a better life. 

Life that turned out to be another type of personal hell. 

In a way, he felt relieved after his excommunication from the League. He had to reinvent himself, all alone, caring about no one. So he did, but the memory of his previous life still haunted him in the mask he was forced to wear every day. 

But he missed Talia, the child he knew back in the Pit, their easy camaraderie, how she looked up to him while he held her innocence before himself like a beacon of humanity.

She changed of course, as did he, but he stubbornly clung to this old, long forgotten self he liked best. 

As long as Ra’s al Ghul lived, memories and stolen hours were all he could have anyway.

Shedding his dirty gear and clothes, he stepped under the shower, still slightly damp inside from the bout Helena had to take after he left. 

He heard her moving in the studio, kept himself on alert as he worked soap on his body. She was getting closer, which he suspected she'd do. 

He turned to watch as she entered. 

Arms around her chest, she seemed at a loss. Two steps brought her to the glass wall separating them by centimetres. 

He slid some of the steam off with one hand to see her better. She seemed tired.

“I didn't plan on staying this long.”

He nodded, turned back to the spray, resuming his cleaning routine. 

“I don't think we should keep… Having sex.”

Raising an eyebrow at her wording, he turned back around to look at her again. She didn't say she's averse, but ‘they shouldn't.’ 

He wondered what made her come to that conclusion.

“What will you do with me, when I finish working on the book?”

He cocked his head to the side, pierced her with a cold glare. “I haven't thought about this yet,” he lied.

She scowled, back straightened, obviously angry. He liked her that way, he realized. 

“You won't let me leave now. You keep me here working in a cell, and now we're fucking. What the fuck is your plan?”

“I don't have one.” He stepped out, pulled her close by the fabric of the shirt. She didn't fight him, but she wasn't eager. He held her, rigid and taut, started to bunch the clothing up. 

“Stop it.”

He hummed, stepping even closer, pressing himself flush to her. 

“You want me.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

He smiled under the mask. “It has lots to do with you staying with me here, from now on.”

Her palms flattened on his biceps, eyes coldly gazing up at him. “Do I have a say in that?”

He stepped back, dragging her with him back under the spray. 

“Of course.” 

He placed her along the wall.

“What will you do to me if I say ‘no’?”

Kneeling, his hands sliding her panties down along with both socks, he puffed out a little laugh. 

“The question, darling, should be what I won't be doing to you if you say ‘no’.”

He observed the way her breath picked up a notch, muscles tense, anticipating his next move. His palms slowly stroked up her legs.

“You manipulative son of a bitch.“ Her hands balled up in fists. 

He kept stroking and touching her, analysing her reactions, gauging best course of action to achieve his goal.

“Stay with me for a while.”

He didn't plan on saying that; it just came out on its own.

He was startled by sadness in her eyes penetrating her anger, showing off in slight slump of her shoulders. Her fingers danced at his cheekbones, caressing thin patches of skin on his cheeks visible from under the mask. 

“Not like this.”

Wrinkles around his eyes crinkled. “Clever girl.” 

They didn't speak anymore after that. 

His thumb sneaked up to rub on her clit, other hand kneading at her buttock. He focused on her, putting all of his experience and expertise into pleasuring her with his hands. Listening to her moans through the sound of falling water he worked her into frenzy. She whimpered when his thick fingers entered her carefully, moved her hips in time with his thrusts. 

Just as she neared the peak he stopped, stood up grunting softly. Eyes wide she looked at him, panting. Without a word he moved her up the wall, his strong arms hoisting her up with ease. In a second he entered her, filling her completely, supporting her weight with his hands. She clung to him, clutching at his back as he drilled into her heat. 

Constantly flowing water filled small space between them with steam, dizzying both of them. Bane grunted, pushing into her in abandon. 

He wanted her to stay. He wanted a partner to talk with, conversations he couldn't ever have with his second in command; someone to share his ideas with. He yearned for a companion seeing him for the scientist he wanted to become instead of the mercenary, monster that he was. He needed her to share his bed, dragging the tension away, showing him what peaceful life might look like.

He buried his head in the crook of her neck, moaning his release. His eyes stung. 

 

* * *

* * *

  
  


Talia called him out of the blue, announcing completion of the new strand of Venom. Demanding his presence at a meeting with Dr Porter.

She used to ask for him to come, once upon a time. 

He went anyway.

The laboratory was in chaos. Papers littered every available surface, vials of viscous liquids carelessly scattered around threatened to harm anyone foolish enough to inspect their contents. Overgrown, lush plants darkened the room, stealing most of the light from tall windows.

Bane watched as Talia talked with Dr Isley. The botanist was beautiful, alabaster skin, emerald eyes and maroon hair perfect in every way. Like a flower. 

He felt indifferent.

The only thing that concerned him was the new strand of Venom. Dr Porter was nowhere in sight, away on urgent business they told him, so he was forced to deal with the assistant. She answered each and every one of his questions, but he wasn’t satisfied. Something was off. 

Yet, Talia seemed to like and trust her. And he trusted his little girl. After all, what reason did she have to hurt him? She was his only link to scientists that could create his drug. 

Both women smiled and turned to him simultaneously. Unnerving him with equally cool stares.

Talia was the first one to break the tension.

“Bane, come,” she beckoned him closer. “Dr Isley has everything ready for you. We both hope you don’t have any more doubts about this version of Venom. It’s perfect.”

He stalked closer, taking a briefcase from redhead’s hands. Her lips stretched in a grimace that could be called a smile. Her eyes stayed dead.

“Thank you.” 

He didn’t have to actually use it. He had his stash of old Venom readily available, able to last him another six months. He would read the notes of Dr Porter, and then decide.

He had time. There were still matters to attend to in Norway, things he needed to gather before going back to compound in Armenia. There he would think about it.

He focused back on his companions and their chatter.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Bane didn’t think about Helena much when he was away, but the moment the plane touched down, his mind went back to their last meeting. The job in Norway was delicate, took him over a week longer than he initially anticipated. Then, there was also the entirely unexpected visit at the laboratory that delayed his plans in the first place.

Following month he would spend exclusively in the monastery, letting his people regain their strength, regrouping. 

Even mercenaries needed time off.

Absentmindedly he palmed the briefcase sitting on the seat beside him. The new Venom. If what Dr Porter claimed was true, after some time of adjusting to the drug, he could forgo the mask for increasingly longer periods of time. For now he had to inject himself with diluted drug whenever he wanted to bare his face. His addiction was growing. The time he had was shrinking, from around four hours initially to nearly one lately. The side effects grew more and more noticeable by the day.

He hoped the new strand would help him get back to his old self.

When he came back, he immediately went to Helena’s part of the compound. 

Ignored amused stares from his men. 

He needed her warmth.

As always the door opened easily, wooden frame sliding effortlessly on oiled hinges. Quick flash of light from the corridor bounced off of the window and vanished soon after as Bane’s hulking form filled the space. He stepped inside surely, closing the door behind him, plunging the room back into darkness. Two measured steps brought him to the bed. 

The duvet and blanket covered Helena snugly. Impatiently he snatched the outer layer away. Movement disturbed her. She rolled to the side with a sigh. 

Bane kneeled by the bed. His hand wound itself into her hair. Another sigh. With other palm he moved the duvet down. She had navy blue nightdress on, the one she wore when he brought her the second manuscript. 

Lace shifted revealing pale breast. Pads of his fingers danced delicately around the areola. Helena moved, head arching back, chest pressing into his hand. 

“Hi,” she said, voice deep from sleep.

“Scoot over.”

She smiled. “I don't think you'll fit in here comfortably.“ 

Nevertheless, she moved closer to the wall.

Bane opened the cover, sliding under it.

“Boots?”, laughing, she pressed closer when he settled. 

He grunted in response, burying his nose, mask and all, in the nape of her neck. Her scent was so strong it filled his nostrils even despite the apparatus on his face. His hands gripped her soft body as he snuggled even closer. So warm. He contemplated the way she awkwardly embraced him, the movement oddly practiced, familiar. He was probably crushing her arm with the weight of his head, but she never complained. 

Distress seeped out of him in waves, replaced by sluggish sense of comfort. He basked in it for some time. Helena settled comfortably beside him, started to doze off again.

Reluctantly he straightened, gathering her on top of him as he stretched on his back. The bed creaked. Helena gasped, surprised at the cold waft of air during the transfer. She sat up, straddling his hips, leaning on his chest on outstretched palms.

“This bed is too small,” he grunted, shamelessly ogling her front. Blue lace framed her breasts deliciously. He slipped one strap off her shoulder.

“It only seems that way because you're too big,” she said. 

“I'm just the right size.” He sat up, supporting her back when the position shifted. Her knees shuffled on the mattress, trying to find purchase. “I fit nicely and snugly, just the way I like it.”

She shot him an incredulous look and laughed. He twisted to the side, so that he was resting his back on the wall, legs comfortably splayed on the floor. Helena rearranged the cover and pillows behind his back. 

Bane busied himself with palming her breast and thigh. 

She watched him play. The swiftness with which he mastered her favourite spots, the way she needed him to touch her, the exact pressure and rhythm she liked, startled her. She never imagined it would be so easy to just come from a hand stroking her neck, but she was rapidly getting closer from exactly that. It never happened to her before, the ease their bodies shared, every orgasm until now wrestled forcibly with titanic effort.  

She watched the way his eyes lingered on her lips. Appraising shape of her breasts as he weighed them in his hands. Observing contracting muscles of her stomach when he slowly pushed her nightdress off. 

Her hair sliding down her back tingled like an electric current, oversensitive skin reacting to the slightest of touches. Impatiently, she gathered her bangs in a messy bun low on her neck, secured it with an elastic she carried on her wrist. 

Her hips ground into his in steady, languid circles. The movement was like an afterthought, all her concentration focused on his hands and eyes. But he noticed. Gradually, he shifted her closer, resting his hands on her hips, thumbs digging underneath her panties. 

“You like to watch,” she mused out loud. 

“I like to know,“ he corrected. Right hand moved to cup her sex. “Right now, I want to know  how wet are you for me?“ 

She looked straight in his eyes as his fingers toyed with damp fabric, tracing the shape of her labia. 

His brows furrowed, feigning disappointment. “Not enough.” 

She pressed herself closer, trapping his palm between them. Head angled as for a kiss she whispered into his mask.

“Check again.” 

She guided his hand herself, rising slightly to make room. Their fingers dove past lace to her core, drenching in her sticky wetness. 

“No, it's not quite what I had in mind,“ he said, shaking his head.

Rising to his taunt she arched back, supporting herself on one hand braced on his knee. The other palm, the one she used to guide Bane, she brought to her lips. 

“Oh, is that so?“ She gave a playful lick to her index finger. “That's unfortunate.”  

He watched her suck on her fingers, hungrily lapping her own essence with clever tongue.  Felt muscles constrict around digits that were still inside her. 

“I might have a remedy to that. Although, “ he grunted as he watched his palm disconnect from her pussy, “that requires a small sacrifice on your side.” 

He reached to his belt, unclasping it only far enough to get to his fly. Helena shifted closer to him, rising above his hips again, sliding her palms beneath his shirt. 

“What would that be?” she mouthed at his ear, barely audible, especially through the harness hiding that part of his head. 

He pressed her closer still, her clit rubbing on his hard stomach, palms kneading on her buttocks underneath her panties. 

His hands shifted, flexing the lacy garment away from her hips. 

He saw in her eyes the moment when she realized what was his intention, brief glaze of regret followed immediately by heat as he wound taut material over one hand. 

The sewing snapped on one side. 

She let her legs slide apart even more, bringing her down over his straining cock. The tip grazed her lightly, too fleetingly to be pleasant.  

“Wet enough?” she panted. Her fingers dug into his arms. Muscles fought to stay motionless as she were.

“Acceptable,” he grunted. The mask altered his voice, but Helena could have sworn he hissed it through gritted teeth. She felt wetness oozing down. 

He gasped.

She moaned when he entered her. Back arched, head lolled back, nails digging into his skin, she whined low in her throat. He let her ride the feeling until shivers shook her lithe frame, then he moved her by the hips, guiding her up and back down over his cock. Few thrusts in she took over, lean muscles of her legs struggling to shift her with enough force. But she carried on. Bane gulped, seeing the almost tormented look on her face. She ground down hard, eyes briefly glazing over his mask. He watched as she sucked on her bottom lip in lieu of his mouth. 

The bed creaked rhythmically under them, joining the melody of her moans punctuated by his gruff huffs and grunts. Her hips moved with obscene smack, testimony to just how wet she actually was. 

Another needy look and he reached out, his fingers circling her neck. She keened. A squeeze, caress, and he moved up, ghosting pads of his fingers over her lips. He pushed inside, one digit, then two. Her cunt gripped him impossibly, clenching in a way, he learned, that heralded her climax.

Someone knocked at the door.

His free hand switched from holding her hip to keeping her down by it, forcing immobility. 

“What is it?“

She moaned around his fingers, rocked her hips slightly in tiny circles. Wanton. Shameless. 

The door opened a fraction to allow clearer communication, provoking a sharp turn of the woman's head. “Birdman requests your assistance.“

Bane slid his fingers out of her mouth, gathered her closer by the neck. 

“I'll be there in five.”

“Roger that.” The door closed with a careless thud.

He stood up, taking Helena with him. Two steps brought him to the wall beside the door. He secured her body with his hands. Slight nod on her part was the acknowledgement he needed to proceed, thrusting harshly, relentlessly, to completion.  

She rested her forehead on his shoulder, anchoring herself with a vice like grasp on his biceps. 

“I want to kiss you,” she complained, whisper choked out in a desperate search of oblivion. “I want you to bite me. And taste me. And I want to taste myself on you.” 

He groaned, seeing behind his eyelids everything she painted for him with her words. His hips snapped harder, thrusts shorter but more forceful, measured. 

Then all pretence of control was wiped from both of them in a blinding moment of primal frenzy. 

“Come to my bed later,” he grunted, holding them both up by sheer force of will. His knees threatened to buck under him, but he reigned over this weakness planning for another. “Stay with me, and I will let you taste what you crave.“ 

She panted, hanging limply, trapped between his strong hands and the wall.

“Maybe,” she breathed, her voice weak. She shook her head as if she was dizzy and trying to clear the fog engulfing her. “Let me think about it.”

“I won't repeat myself anymore after this time,” he warned, laying her gently back on the bed, rearranging the duvet to cover her. 

She watched as he tidied his clothes, her eyelids drooping lower despite efforts to stay awake. 

One last look, a smile behind the mask maybe, and he was gone.

Back to looting and pillaging, Helena thought. After all, there is nothing he has to take by force from me, that isn't readily given away…

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Chapel was silent and nearly empty. Birdman was immersed in rapidly typing neverending commands on a computer, but stopped as soon as Bane got close enough to speak comfortably.

“We have a breach in cyber security.”

“Is it manageable?”

“I’m on top of it. There was also a report of some issues with our staff on Daggett assignment.”

None of this important enough to require Bane’s personal attention. He measured his second-in-command carefully.

“What issues?”

“Improper conduct endangering the success of the mission,” Birdman replied.

There it was. Barely noticeable scorn under a pleasant half-smile. Hidden frown over honest eyes.

“Details, brother.”

“There were women in the camp.”

A pensive nod from Bane.

“Connect me to them,” he ordered after consideration. It was still early in Niger. The matter wasn’t really important, but morale was.

“Before I do, a word?”

An impassive stare was his only answer.

“They might be riled up, because you have your share here, and they’ve been holding out for some time now. Since August, if memory serves me right.”

“Are you bothered by my activities, brother?”

“I’m concerned you dedicate more time to the scribe than is reasonable.”

“You would do well to keep your opinions to yourself on this matter from now on,”  Bane warned. Impatient flicker of his fingers was signal to end of this conversation. “Connect the call.”

 

* * *

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title is a quote from Erasmus. :D
> 
> Next chapter, “Saturnalia”, will be up shortly.
> 
> Plot thickens, Venom gets more venomous…
> 
>  
> 
> As always - if you tell me what you think I actually write (and post) faster! Positive reinforcement. ;)


	12. Saturnalia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo!
> 
> Seeing how the previous two chapters were almost exclusively smut, I've decided to jump a month ahead with the story. IF you do want some reading material concerning November (smut, smut, smut, and some fluff to top it off) - let me know. I can always whip up some bonus chapters later on. ;) This one was surprisingly difficult to finish, I'm glad I can move to the next one!
> 
> I'm toying with the idea of scribbling something after chapter 15.
> 
> On with it, and Happy New Year to all!

* * *

* * *

 

Helena looked up the mountain to pale moon hanging ominously over the monastery. The light it reflected bathed everything in incandescent pale glow. Shadows seemed twice as deep.

She felt ruined. The intensity of last month took her breath away. There was no point pretending - before herself or others - she loved every second of it. Even though Bane didn’t trust her with moving freely around the compound, she found herself finding him whenever she needed to. As if he watched her for an opening, for a little gambit that let him step in and enjoy her undivided attention. There was no structure or routine to their meetings, only the inevitability of the hunger that threatened to consume them if not satisfied.

She must have been depraved to crave him as much as she did.

The more time she spent with the masked man, the more she felt the gravitational pull of his charismatic presence. Glimpses she could see while up close and in intimate surrounding mesmerized her. So much, she barely even registered when November ended. There was scarcely anything to do with the manuscript, her work long forgotten. A mere afterthought during days of lazily exploring Bane.

But now lead ball of tension settled back in her chest. It burned with fear and shame. Made her feel as if she could never draw a breath deep enough, or exhale properly, with how high-strung she was.

What was she doing, falling for a man like that?

The cramp behind her right shoulder blade also returned. Her hand felt forced on the paper. She didn’t dare try writing on vellum today, for fear of damaging the prized material. There was more than enough spare to put her mind at ease if she did blotch something beyond correction, but it was the principle that mattered. If she were to make a mistake, she would feel like Penelope, undoing her own work to prolong inevitable conclusion at its completion.

Mere thought of finishing the manuscript chilled her blood. She couldn’t delude herself anymore that Bane would just let her go. She knew too much by now. About the compound, his men. The mercenary himself.

At times the border between being forced to stay at the compound and wanting to be there distorted, fading and blending seemingly seamlessly between what was and what she wanted. The reason never left her, but her conscience wasn't nagging her endlessly either. Only, she had moments of perfect clarity, like this one, when everything she saw was sharp and well defined. Unable to hide anything.

She felt ruined, but couldn't suppress a sigh when she looked into Bane’s dark windows.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

“What would you like to do with your life?”

The question startled her. She lowered book to her knees covered by the blanket, looked up at Bane. They were spending the evening together, him by his desk reading some of the unending stacks of printouts littering its expanse, Helena on the sofa. Times like these usually passed in amiable silence, sometimes interrupted by trivia from Bane, quiet giggling from Helena, and abandoned altogether if they decided to dedicate their time to more vigorous activities.

Somehow in last weeks they never talked about philosophy like they used to.

Helena looked at him pensively. What was he getting at?

“Do you mean in general or just next year or so?”

“Generally speaking.”

“I want to be happy. Preferably calligraphing still. Living somewhere quiet and picturesque. Close to the sea maybe.”

“That's it?“

Helena shrugged, raising back her book. “Yes, that's about everything I want from life.”

“But I asked what would you like to do with it.”

She shot him an impatient and irritated glare, which he ignored, making her sigh.

“In that case - I would like to get back the control over it.”

He rested his head on entwined palms, elbows stretched wide apart, accentuating muscles on his chest. His shirt rode up a fraction, luring Helena's gaze with slither of skin.

“Have you ever truly held control over it, though?”

Her lips stretched in an unamused grimace.

“I believed I had, which was good enough.”

“And once again, you praise ignorance,” he mocked.

“Okay, let me tell you what I really want, right now. Since you like to know-,” she hissed the word out, ”-oh, so much.”

He didn't move, but his pose stiffened with sharp focus.

“I would like to have this conversation in a place I could get out of freely. I wish we could fuck without parading the intent before fifty other people. I wish I could work watching you read your printouts, whatever they are, without concerns other than what's for dinner. I wish I could see your face or hear your voice. I wish I could get to know you, because even though this whole situation is royally fucked up, I think I actually do like you as a person.”

“Do you think I will be so enchanted by your magical cunt, I cannot think straight, and just leave everything to keep you company?” He snorted. “There is much of the world you have no idea of, let alone me and the things I do.”

“You asked what would I like, not what I deem possible. Or healthy. Or sane.”

“So you want to play house.”

Helena stroked her hands over fabric of the blanket. Did she want to play anything with him?

“I was wondering if you ever got a chance to just be. Do what you want for yourself, instead of what is expected of you.”

That gave him pause.

“Have you ever, I don’t know, just hung out in a hut by the sea? Fished or hunted, cooked your own food for sheer pleasure of it, read books, did whatever it is you do when you’re not pillaging and plundering?”

She waited with baited breath as he visibly weighed his options.

“I have no desire of doing such things.”

He could see her heart fall, as her face sunk.

“Of course you don’t.”

She picked the book back, even though they both knew she wouldn't really read it now.

“Aren't you going to ask me?”

Hiding roll of her eyes she sighed once again and put the book away.

“I suppose you'd like to do something monumental to express your beliefs and show the world how stupid everyone else is.”

“Close enough,” he smirked.

“What would you do then? Bomb somebody? Raze a city to the ground? Overturn a government?”

“I would show the people how wrong they are to think they are free now. Then I would free them.”

Helena narrowed her eyes.

“But you wouldn't actually make them free, right? You'd just make them feel free in some aspects of their life that were constricted, all the time keeping good grip on everyone.”

“Maybe.” he seemed smug.

“Why?”

“People need laws to keep them in check. The laws that we have today are overcomplicated, twisted by greed and corruption. I want to shape the masses, so that they can see the rot and react to it.”

“And how would you achieve this noble goal?”

He fixed her with a heavy stare.

“I'm not a big fan of humanity, so take a wild guess.”

Helena frowned. She had some ideas… All rather terrifying.  But there were in her head, he didn't plant them, so what would be brewing under his bald skull?

“You’re delusional.”

“Elaborate.”

“The world won't change at its core for you. Not the way you expect it to. You can bully people into behaving the way you want them to, for a year, ten even. Hell, there are places where people are bullied into submission for generations now. But no one lives forever and no one place is ever left truly alone to just rot. Sooner or later either you die, or someone intervenes. One way or the other, if the people themselves won't really change their way of thinking, their values, your goal will crumble as soon as the thing supporting the bullying falls. So, the premise that you can scare people into behaving well is inherently flawed, because they won’t maintain the preferred behaviour without use of an external force.”

Bane slouched forward, resting elbows on his knees, gesturing lazily with one hand to accentuate his words.

“I’m delusional thinking I can change people shocking them into submission to my ideals, and you’re not delusional believing they will just see the error of their way somehow, and better themselves just because? How do you expect that to occur? There are countless proves showing how making people do something teaches them the values you want them to carry. Why do you think we invented laws? People won’t behave unless you show them what they can and cannot do. This society that you belong to, that preaches freedom to all men, an indispensable right to every human… They thrive on the misfortune of millions beneath them. You say that no one country is left to rot? Look at North Korea. At Iran. You’re not thinking in a rational way for fear of seeing the reality you live in. The signs are all there to see, there has to be a reckoning for people to change.”

“I agree, you have a point in that some form of oppression seems to have a positive impact on collective behaviour. Sure. But even if you try to enforce good ideals in people they won’t behave unless they know it’s really to their advantage. That’s why I think you’re fooling yourself with the apparent easy way out. You want to know what would work to really make the world better? Look how advances in science, in every field not only ethics and philosophy, look how they made us get closer to the ideal. The oppression you glorify, that’s the agent making us all go back a few steps every time we move forward towards true equality and order. Darwin didn’t kill faith in god, neither did Nietzsche, but they showed all of us that we can think different about things apparently set in stone. That we have to carve our morals in accordance to other human beings instead of arbitrary laws from wherever. Look at this!” She pointed at the bookcase. “All those mathematicians and physicists, even mere enthusiasts gazing into the sky showed the world how truly magnificent it is to be human. Alive and sentient on the planet like a speck of dust in the maddeningly vast expanse of the universe. And what do you want to do with it? Shoot people, blow some bombs, maybe overturn a government? For what Bane, for what?”

He stood up, strolled closer and bent down over her, bracing on the back of the sofa.

“You're naive. There's fire in you, but you extinguish it yourself with your ideas of world peace. It defies human nature, my dear. Let it go.”

“Never.”

“Coward.“

She snorted, grinning at him insolently. “No one can insult me, because I don't want respect.”

“No one can defeat me because I've dropped the very idea of winning,” he finished. “Very good choice of quote, my dear.”

Rest of the evening they've spent on silence, astonished on Helena’s part, with the conclusion of the conversation.

 

* * *

* * *

 

First snow of the season came in big fluffy flakes in the middle of December. The day was surprisingly warm, as there was hardly any wind. Snowflakes fell peacefully in still air, engulfing the compound in a fairytale like hush.

The book was finished.

Helena spent the morning looking for anything more she could do, but there was absolutely nothing to touch up, straighten, embellish, smooth over or clean up. That was it.

She sat at her desk idly, waiting either for Bane to come by or send for her. It turned out to be the latter, in the end. Helena felt surreal detachment towards her fate.

She packed the book in cloth, tucked it under her arm and walked with measured steps the walk she knew now by heart. To the right, down seven steps, two steps on the landing, six more to ground level. Cutting diagonally through the courtyard she always raised her head to look up at the sky. Smiled at some mercenaries if she was in a good mood.

But not today.

Today her legs slowed down to a standstill, and she contemplated the fall of the flakes, gracefully and gradually covering every available surface. Crates of ammo, boxes full of weapons, backpacks always refilled to serve all necessities in the middle of combat.

Everything was sharp to her eyes, but muffled in her ears. She started as the guard repeated her name for the second time.

Inside Bane’s turret was warm, but not toasty, the windows too drafty to keep all of the heat in. She never really needed that anyway when she was with the mercenary, she thought. He was sitting by his desk when she walked in and didn’t even turn around to greet her.

She left the parcel beside him and made to the sofa.

“So it is done.”

Bane turned the manuscript over in his hands, caressing the cover carefully. His eyes glistened with pride. Helena wondered what the source of it was. Pads of his rough fingers caught on shallow valleys pressed in the leather in a geometrical pattern. He turned the tome to look at the back. Frowned, when he noticed golden gilding on the pages.

“We didn’t agree on that.” Accusatory.

Helena smiled. “Open it.”

“Where?” he asked, toying with twin clasps securing wings of the cover.

“The middle would work best.”

When he did as she instructed, his eyes widened in astonishment. Spread pages revealed a picture painted on the edge of the sheets, hidden beneath layer of gold. Sun shining down on Moon, with colourful nebula dotted with stars as background.

“I thought you would appreciate a small surprise like this. And I was bored in October without…” her voice hitched. ‘You’, was what she meant to say, “...any more real work to do beside the cover.”

Bane looked back up at her, in a way that made her heart flutter.

“This is exquisite.”

Helena dipped her head to hide a grin. “Thank you.”

“No, I don’t mean it's well done,” he corrected, dead serious. “It is beautiful in every aspect. Even though I saw it being made every step of the way, the end result is astonishing. This book will be my most prized possession now.”

“I would think the prisoner who can make more of them would be more valuable.”

He wound his hand in hair at the back of her head, bent to look straight into her eyes.

“Asking for what I can't give will only bring you suffering.”

“I didn't ask.”

A nod from Bane. “Thank you.” He shifted his palm to her shoulder, swooped thumb over her collarbone. “Keep me company before we figure out your next assignment, hmm?”

She didn't have a choice. She would agree anyway if she had, but the fact that it wasn't her decision to make echoed with bitterness in her mouth.

“Sure. Maybe you could tell me what it is actually about?”

“I have a better idea,” his palm caressed back of her neck. It's like petting cat or a dog to him, Helena thought.

“I'll teach you Latin.”

She focused back on Bane.

“You could just tell me,” she stated resolutely.

“But then we'd miss out on all the fun!”

She didn't have an answer to that.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

He let her pick books from his chambers, like a library, when he wasn't around. Two at a time at most. Always accompanied by a guard, but that was to be expected.

She contemplated her options. There was ‘Pride and Prejudice’ beside ‘Black Holes and Baby Universes.’ Further she found ‘The Dragons of Eden’, a number of essays on astronomy she fooled herself she could understand, and more works of Carl Sagan. Even more English classics. Her fingers caressed first tome of ‘Vanity Fair.’ Some heavy titles on psychology, some collections of philosophical bedrock of Europe. All tempting, all interesting. She wondered what were other books about, ones she couldn't read because she didn’t know the languages they were written in.

An unmistakable hum of cars rolling onto the pavement came from the courtyard, announcing return of Bane from his most recent excursion. She weighed her options again.

Austen and Hawking it is, she decided on a whim. Gathering the books close to her chest, she turned to James. He wasn't waiting at the door as before, instead he peeked carefully out of the window shaking his head. He looked at her gravely.

“It's not looking good. Let's hurry back.”

She frowned. What was the point of sneaking around if they were allowed to be there in the first place? She trusted his judgement, believing he had information she lacked, but it rubbed her the wrong way. They started towards the door.

Too late.

Bane stormed in but froze once he saw them. Obviously he wasn’t expecting company in his chambers.

He looked awful. Loose shirt he wore under the vest was torn in places, stained with his blood. Crimson also dotted his front in big blotches. One side of his pants was ripped. His face dirtied with dust. Muscles still twitched with leftover adrenaline. Pupils shrunk to a needle point, making his gaze even more piercing.

“Out, now,” he said his voice oddly calm.

James started immediately, looked over to Helena with irritation when she faltered after two steps.

Her eyes were glued to Banes battered form. The masked man looked over to her. His fingers twitched impatiently.

“You want to play with fire, girl?” He snarled.

She made a mistake of looking up to his eyes.

Bane waved over to James. “Leave us.”

Helena clutched books closer to her chest, as it they could shield her from him. Despite herself she felt almost tangible fear radiating off her in waves. Paradoxically, it seemed to only heighten her lust for him, instead of dampening it. Bane was feral and it spoke to some hidden, primal part of her brain in most inappropriate of ways. She both dreaded what he would do now, and couldn't wait to start whatever it was she ignited in him.

He stalked over, glancing at the tomes she held. Delicately he took them away, deposited safely on a coffee table littered with knickknacks.  

Suddenly empty handed, Helena fidgeted. She wrapped her arms around herself, toyed with thread of her sweater.

“You think you know me by now, don't you?” he said, voice barely above a whisper, still resonating crystal clear in the space between them. “Let me show you who I really am.“

Before she had a chance to even open her mouth he pushed her back on the bookcase. She managed to let out only a weak, broken shriek. Efficient thrusts of his hands positioned her with her back to him, her hands straining on either side of her chest to keep even a fraction of the pressure he imposed on her off her ribcage. He crushed her against wall of wood and books, metal of his vest digging painfully on her back. She gasped quick, shallow breaths.

His hands were on her, shoving her panties and leggings down.

Helena rested her forehead on worn spines. Closed her eyes. Smell of blood and smoke was dizzying, mixed with dusky aroma of worn covers. Bane's hands were cold when he roughly kicked her legs apart as far as straining fabric allowed and positioned her hips further back.

Her eyes snapped open when he shifted back a bit. Clatter of unbuckled belt and rasp of zipper echoed in her ears with rush of pounding blood.

It was really happening.

Without any preparation or hesitation he shoved himself inside of her. She was damp, but still it stung a bit; the stretch uncomfortable, but not impossible. She sighed as he moved relentlessly, familiarizing herself with the position. One arm braced her still on the bookcase, the other she moved to cushion her forehead, bumping rhythmically on the books.

“Fuck,” he whined behind her, voice lost and broken. His fingers dug painfully into her hips, cold grate of his mask pressed on the side of her head. “You want me even like this?”

Despite herself she clenched around him, provoking a string of curses she didn't think him capable of. What she felt wasn't exactly pleasure; but then again it wasn't pain either. Her body accommodated his, giving an outlet to his still adrenaline fuelled instincts. That's what it was, right? He had to work out the rush from fighting and she just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  

Feeling all the wrong things for him.

“Not capable of turning me down, hmm?”

His right palm slid down to her cunt. “You really are wet for me all the time,” he hissed. “How does it make you feel right now, knowing I'm pleasuring you with hands that killed just minutes ago?”

She gasped, horrified. He was skilled, massaging her expertly, not giving her a chance at coherent reply.

She knew it all, even before today. She realized it anew every time he went away. Still, her mind cut the tie whenever there was a possibility of enjoying his body. Now he didn't leave her a choice, forcing her to acknowledge everything he was.

Or everything he appeared to be, she thought.

Oh, she would show him who he is.

She shoved at the bookcase.

He laughed, moving his right hand to brace along hers. “Too late to pretend you don't want it, my dear,” he said. “You're already dripping for me.”

She smirked, lips hidden behind tousled hair. His thrusts got slower and more thorough, really started to feel good. No, she couldn't let herself be distracted, she reminded herself. Again she shoved, rattling the books slightly, groaning when nothing happened. Bane grunted in response, tightened one hand on her jaw, forcing her head back. Her eyes shut with the pleasure. Fingers flattened on dusty spines.

She whined, frustrated she had to stop Bane, grasped the shelves again. Not working...

Her current tactic inefficient, she settled for more direct approach. One deeper breath to settle her resolve was all it took.

She began hurling the books to the floor, smashing them purposely to damage. One old time spewed sheets of paper around as it fell.

Bane stilled, a shocked ‘No!’ tearing itself out of his throat. He grabbed both her wrists, brought them together behind her back, slipping from inside her.

Minutes passed with only their ragged breathing audible in the room. Helena inclined her head towards him. He seemed crushed.

“Big bad mercenary can't stomach a book being gutted?”

Without looking at her he yanked her arms down, forcing her to kneel on the floor. His gaze switched to her only as he closed one palm around her neck.

“You imagine you know what I think about you,” she said.

His hand tightened, cutting her oxygen off. He let go after few seconds, arching a brow over what she had to say now.

She coughed for a minute. “Do you want to know how you look to me now?”

Using the keyword was a gamble on itself, but in her current situation seemed only fair. She had nothing to lose, her life obviously hung in the balance even before she first opened her mouth.

Tendons in his neck corded visibly. He reached to his fly to cover himself, but pivoted to catch Helena's palm stretching towards him.

“You need my cock to speak?”

She used his grip to bring herself closer. Her breath ghosted over his skin. She looked up. “You want to appear one dimensional, but no one ever is, Bane.”

He hardened again as she spoke, the combined sight and the sensation of warm gusts of air caressing him enough to stoke the lust anew.

“You're a killer, mercenary, terrorist,“ she continued, at the same time stroking her soft cheek along his erection. “A scholar, book lover, a scientist.” She watched him swallow when she licked experimentally, flattening her tongue over his girth. “Prisoner, redeemer, jailer,” she finished, whispering.

He wound his hand in her hair, holding her close. He didn't force her forward, just braced himself, tense, listening intently to her words, staring at her deceptively supplicant form before him. His other palm still clutched her left hand.

Helena sucked him in as far as she could, cupping the rest of his cock with her right hand. He let out a choked gasp, head thrown back. His left hand reached blindly to steady him on the back of the sofa. Leaning on it on a backstroke, popping out of her mouth with a muted slap. Helena hurried closer, eagerly taking him back into her mouth, stroking him with a twist of a wrist.

Bane’s mind was racing a hundred miles a minute, processing last ten minutes over and over. How did he arrive from nearly raping her to having his cock sucked off was beyond him. He closed his eyes briefly, head returning to its proper position.

Looked down, feasting his eyes on a sight he’d rarely seen in his life.

Helena moved away licking her lips. She gazed up.

“I want to see you. “

His eyes hardened.

“All of you,” she added, biting on her lip.

The hand wound in her hair yanked her head back, forcing her mouth to open a fraction.  He dragged side of his shaft on her teeth.

“No,” he hissed.

She licked the head but didn't take him further into her mouth. Her hands flattened on his abdomen, below his bloodied shirt and vest.

“Let me know you.”

Gracefully she went back to stroking him with her cheek. He never would have imagined how promise of an act could surpass even most lewd action. It was harder and harder not to give in.

“You seem to think you do already.”

He moaned when she reached down, cupping his sack as well as his base.

Playful lick at the tip.

“You know I don't think so.”

“Yes,” he let slip.

Watching her moisten her lips then part them to allow him re-entry, he held his breath. Sucked in a gust of air after few seconds when she stayed still. His tip rested almost on her tongue.

“Suck me,” he hissed, his voice more pleading than demanding.

She did, after briefly narrowing her eyes. This time she didn't tease him but set a steady, thorough pace designed to bring him off. He relished the harsh, nearly resentful way she tugged on him, velvety mouth bringing moist heat after every stroke to soothe him and stoke his need higher.

He didn't last much longer.

His breath turned from pants to restrained guttural moans, urging her on incoherently through gritted teeth. His eyes watered with the force if his release, and he watched her swallow, hungrily noting every detail of the scene as he hunched over her, crushed with pleasure.

“You’re perfect.”

She frowned, turned away to find something to rinse her mouth with. Bane stopped her with a hand on her neck.

“What is it?”

“It feels like a slap for you to say it now.”

“Take it as I give it to you, don’t build constructs around it.”

She slipped away, hid in the bathroom. He followed her there after a brief pause.

“Be angry at me. Come on, release it,” he taunted, leaning casually in the doorway.

Bitterness rose in her throat in time with anger gripping her shoulders. She forced her lungs to draw a deep breath, let the feeling dissipate into her bones. Hitting him now was tempting, but she didn’t want to send that message. They were both still unstable after the exchange in the study, both confused and flooded with raw emotions.

She opened her eyes and walked calmly to him.

“You’re holding yourself back.”

“Maybe I am,” she mused, stroking his arm. “Maybe I am keeping myself together that way.”

He started to move away, but she stopped him, fragile palm gripping his bicep.

“What am I to you?”

“A distraction,” he muttered, freeing himself from her grasp. “A variation in my calculations I did not anticipate.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

Back in her room Helena sprawled on the bed. Book in hand, she glanced out of the window into the evening sky. The encounter with Bane was intense. First time she felt like doing something exclusively for him, to settle his need instead of quenching her own thirst for sex. Swallowing thickly she took a deep breath. He was capricious, but her mood also swung dangerously around, from calmness to frantic need in a matter of seconds.

She balanced on a thin line between prisoner and one of the staff; not really either. Maybe now that the manuscript was finished he would treat her less like a prisoner.

Chest constricting with another deep sigh, she opened the book.

‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’

Giggling she imagined Bane. He did fit the description to the letter. Who would want to become his wife though? And what would that entail, she wondered, the book forgotten on her stomach. Accompanying him on his numerous trips around the world? Staying at home raising his children, until he deemed them old enough to work with him?

She paled.

Children.

Oh fuck!

She never had enough pills to last her during the initial month, and then she didn’t ask to replenish them. Bane didn’t use condoms; she never bothered to even ask if he had any. They just rutted like animals, both equally careless of the consequences.

And the reality finally caught up.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

When was her last period?

Pressing shaking, clammy hands to her cheeks she tried to focus.

Step by step.

March, before she was kidnapped. April was delayed, probably due to stress. May, okay but earlier than she anticipated. June, also a bit off schedule. July, August and September all there when it was supposed to occur. October, she remembered vividly, right after her first time with Bane, hot rush of relief still fresh in her mind. But it was December now, second part of the month.

Her period was really, really late. There was only one explanation.

She never wanted a baby, but now having the possibility of carrying a child of a mercenary, a terrorist, her goddamn kidnapper, scared her shitless, more than she thought possible. She never had much hope of just leaving him and it got virtually non-existent now.

Unless, he would want her to get rid of it. Or order his men to get rid of her, for good.

No, either of these options wasn’t like him, she thought.

But then again, what did she know about Bane and his motives?

 

* * *

* * *

 

New Years passed without celebrations. Only variance in the routine was a festive dinner and tearing down of old calendars. Helena spent that day with Bane, reading, stubbornly refusing rest until midnight, even though her eyelids seemed to weigh more than possible with each passing second. For traditions sake, she told him.

She watched him sleep.

Simple act of laying to rest - and letting her see - was a milestone. She suspected there were very few people, dead or alive, who ever were allowed to witness him during his most vulnerable hours.

He looked pretty much the same as he always did. The mask obscured most of his face. She remembered one glimpse she stole once, by chance alone. The bathroom mirror just started to clear from the condensation. Bane was shaving his jaw. She knew he noticed her, staring at him for five seconds before she lost her nerve and hid back under the covers. He allowed it, but never mentioned that now she knew how he really looked. Maybe it wasn't important to him. Maybe there was a reason why he didn’t feel threatened by it.

She wouldn't describe him as handsome in the classical sense. There were too many scars for that. But she was enticed by his full lips. The contrast of their natural plumpness and few lines marring their perfect shape, blossoming into ugly marks on his cheek and jaw. She nearly missed the way his ear was cut as if purposefully clipped. Quick, brief glance at his nose, surprisingly straight despite the scars, and she dunked her head down.

She got in a habit of absentmindedly sketching his likeness on margins of her working drafts. Scribbled it over immediately each and every time, mindful of his earlier warning never to draw him again. But his face was now etched behind her eyelids, imprinted in her memory.  

She saw it now, despite the mask, as she watched him just lying in bed. She didn’t dare move, just basked in the knowledge of his trust.

Her chest tightened.

She was hiding vital information from him, while he trusted her.

How ever was she going to find a way out now?

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can tell you, it won't be the usual 'I'm pregnant with Bane's baby, everything is going to be fluff and rainbows' story. Nope.
> 
> Also - I would have you know I'm all for safe sex. Just needed Helena and Bane to be a little irresponsible for the sake of the plot. Yup. Nothing more!
> 
> How do you like this darker turn?


	13. Hamartia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo!
> 
> I'm so anxious and excited over your thoughts over the plot. You have no idea.
> 
> My fantastic Comma Remover and Proof Reader, ThreeDots, convinced me of extending the story a bit. So, instead of 15 chapters we will have 19. They might be shorter than the latest ones, though. Also, I do have some more stuff planned for Helena after I finish the main story, so keep an eye out, if you're interested.

* * *

* * *

 

Blank sheet of parchment sat untouched on the desk. Helena twirled an undipped pen in her fingers. She sighed, looking out of the window. Her lips pursed in distaste. The page waited to be filled.

She was irritated by her own irritability. Bane came back from his most recent excursion invigorated, full of ideas. Her mood soured instantly when she realized she was jealous. Not envious of his excitement, but unsettled by that mysterious influence he so seldom let anyone hold over him. She heard it was a woman. Another woman.

That left her thinking yet again. Unable to focus, especially since there wasn’t any work to distract her.

What did she know about Bane and his life before he kidnapped her? Scraps of information she had were nowhere close to knowing him, even remotely. And yet, her joke two months earlier, about suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, didn’t quite ring true. It explained some, but not all of her behaviour.

With a decisive huff she straightened in her seat, dipped the pen and scratched a vertical line through the middle of the sheet.

On the left she scribbled simply ’B’, other side left blank.

She wrote whatever came to her mind to characterize the masked man. Dominant. Charismatic. Intelligent. Capricious. Violent. Restrained. Secretive. Honourable.

Her pen stilled on the last letter. Was he really? She remembered how he insisted on keeping his word. Her cheeks flushed as she recalled the first time he actually showed her his interest. Maybe he really was honourable in some twisted, half primal and volatile way. On his own terms.

Blank column on the right beckoned to be filled.

That one was trickier. Even so, first word Helena wrote came down nimbly, with steady hand and a little flourish.

Fascination.

That’s what she felt towards him first and foremost. It was fuel charging her in all interactions with Bane. The man behind the kidnapping intrigued her from the get go.

What else, she mused.

Resentment.

He didn’t have to make her work for him by force. He had enough resources to hire five excellent scribes, have them swear to secrecy’, and then copy priceless ancient manuscripts in complete silence dressed as monks from the Middle Ages. 

She snickered. Of course, he could also do that right after he killed her on the road when they met for the first time. So, the happy coincidence of having the manuscript at hand might have just saved her life that day. She rolled her right shoulder, staring at free space stretching below the last word. 

Her ears picked up some commotion on the courtyard. Engines revving, a few bikes started to roll away from the compound. She caught sight of Bane’s broad back, shirtless today despite the frost, as he went back few steps to the command centre after dispatching his men. Wouldn't he get cold sitting for hours in a drafty, shady stone building? Her mind jumped at the thought. Why would she be concerned over well-being of her captor? 

Then again, why wouldn’t she be concerned about what happens to her lover?

Her hand came back to knead on tense muscles of right shoulder. Bane would help her with the cramp, only later, when he’d be finished with today's work. He’d press until the tension breaks, and then smooth the pain over the aching muscles. Then he’d let her roll over and bring him down over her like an oversized human blanket. 

She sighed.

That was it. She trusted him to help her. He was a constant she grew reliant on. A presence she was fond of, and sought of her own volition. A person, she didn’t know almost anything  about. A person holding her life in his hands. Quite literally.

Now she felt it more than ever.  

Unfortunately, the problem she was facing now was not something she would chance running over him.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Sound of the razor scraping slightly on his skin was oddly comforting. Outside greyed, flimsy light of a new winter day brightening swiftly, but in his chambers there was still a shadow of past night. Bane wiped his chin of the foam, brushed teeth and rinsed his mouth with Listerine before taking last deep breath of unfiltered air and putting the mask back on. 

His eyes dropped to the sink. Helena’s toothbrush caught his gaze. When he hung the towel to dry, he had to take hers off the rack first. The woman herself was still sprawled on his bed, sleeping.

He stood in the doorway, watching.

Domesticity was unfamiliar but not unpleasant, he discovered with vague amusement. Past year saw him coming back to this compound more often than he anticipated. His men fared well even when he wasn't there to guide their hand personally, and he enjoyed having purpose beyond the usual call of duty. Something to come back to after hours, something that didn't depend entirely on him. Someone who waited for him.

He knew Helena liked spending time together. Even if they only sat in the same room, each engrossed in their own activity. She told him the allure of being with him like that was in the potential. If she sat alone in her room all the time, what chance there would be for them to circle around each other all evening until the culmination in bed at night? On the other hand, if she stayed with him all the time, she argued, what allure would there be to the hours she spent in his bed? So they moved back and forth, between his turret and her cell, all the while leaving more and more traces of themselves along the way.

Closing the bathroom door Bane wondered why he let her see him that one time.

Study was cold but he didn't mind. Glancing at the table by the bedroom brought another reminder that he wasn't alone. A tray with breakfast. He ate his part earlier, reading, and felt a sharp pang of bittersweet memory when he involuntarily saved the best bits for Helena. Just like he did for Talia, all those years ago. 

The compound was sluggishly waking up too, the first path through fresh snow already marred the expanse of the courtyard. He managed to only glance at the prints he wanted to go over today when there was a knock on the entrance to the suite.

"Come in," he called.

Birdman walked two steps in, halting with Barsad behind his back when he noticed corner of undoubtedly occupied bed through ajar door of the bedroom.

"We need to make a plan for Taiwan."

"So we will. Come in, then," Bane said in Arabic gesturing towards the room.

Without a comment on the change of language, Barsad made his way to the chair by the globe, his favourite spot. Put stack of papers beside him, waiting. 

The other officer still stood by the entrance.

"It's not a good idea to discuss tactics with her in an earshot," he noticed.

With a slight grunt Bane stood up, straightening his spine with an audible crack.

"I didn't ask your opinion on that matter. I expressly told you not to pursue this subject."

"It's endangering us, Bane," Birdman argued.

"How?" Mocking.

"How do you know she doesn't understand what we're saying right now? What if her next pitiful attempt at escaping succeeds? We're all dead if she tells any agency what she saw here. What she knows about you. And she distracts you. You had to go to Niger solely to placate the men that were emulating your own behaviour."

Barsad sat silently, observing both of them with an uninterested air.

"If she escapes, that means it would be the third time your men show inadequacies in training. And discipline. What do you think she knows about what we do? Nothing, she’s too engrossed into her own work to care. You want to know what she knows about me? She can tell the CIA how I like my cock sucked. If she ever leaves, she won't have a voice to speak with." A pause, measuring. "You have broader privileges than most, but you've stretched them too far. Don't test my patience again."

"For the record," Barsad interrupted, easing some of the tension hanging in the air with his easy tone. "I'd like to notice she actually seems to improve the ambiance on the compound with her presence."

Bane turned to him with an eyebrow raised.

"We didn't gather to discuss that, so let it be the end of the matter. What do we have on the target in Taiwan?"

The conversation based on facts and not feelings, hunches or baseless prediction soothed the mood. They talked in Arabic, Birdman perched by the chess desk, Barsad sprawled by the globe and Bane before them, leaning on the back of the sofa, sometimes pacing to ease the strain on his spine. They moved a table in between them, started sketching possible routes to follow. All heard a satisfied sigh ending with a little moan from the other room. Bane pretended he ignored it altogether. 

He knew what caused it. Helena always lazed about, stretching and rolling in bed, trying to stay on the verge of sleep for shamelessly long periods of time. Now probably extending her spine, on her knees on the bed, hands prostrated before her, palms down, knees spread, hips hanging low over the mattress, finally ready to get up and out of bed after a catlike graceful stretch.

The shower started as they mused over the security measures they had to overcome. The compound they wanted to raid was vast, group of operatives would have to be small due to an unfamiliar territory and distance from their bases. Bane needed something to distract and disorient his enemy. Then, with surgical precision his men would extract the target, and put him in a safehouse with a lab and Dr Porter's notes. He wanted to get an independent source of Venom. He trusted Talia but had another feelings altogether when it came to the old scientist. And Dr Isley. There was something about her that irritated him, something not quite right.

The shower stopped when they moved to brainstorming on the best possible method to automatize explosives delivery.

"Bane?" came from the bedroom, the voice a bit uncertain.

"Wait," he replied in English, continuing string of conversation they started few minutes past.

The matter stood at an impasse after quarter of an hour, so he gestured for his officers to hold, and finally moved towards bedroom. Birdman didn't hide his displeasure.

Bane smiled under the mask. Helena was lying on the bed looking through the window at quickly passing clouds. The shirt she was wearing, his shirt, rode up showing her thighs almost up to her butt. Delicious.

"You can get back whenever you like, you know," he observed.

"No, I can't," she pouted sitting up, sliding to the floor. There was something in her fist, too small to be seen.

"I'm not keeping you."

She scoffed, and threw whatever was in her palm at his chest. Lacy material was swiftly caught midair. Bane leered, unseen.

"I'm quite fond of those." The glee was evident in his voice.

"I bet you are. It's the second pair you ripped."

"So?" He said, tucking her panties in his pocket. Reflexively, he told himself, folding bare arms over equally bare chest.

"Well, I don't have any clothes here," she said, picking up her discarded dress. It was faster for Bane to just open it instead of fiddling with the zipper, the night before. The material gave easily, swoosh of ripping fabric accompanied by joyous laughter. 

"The ones I do have weren't nearly enough anyway for more than a week," Helena continued. She eyed her bra, the garment useless now that the cups weren't connected. It was salvageable, if only she could get her hands on some red ribbons.

Bane cocked his head to the side.

"I will bring you clothes."

"Now?"

"Later."

"What am I supposed to do until then?"

"Read."

"I can't get out of here with your men in the study!" she hissed.

"Why not?"

"I'm not really keen on parading half naked before them."

"You have clothes here," he gestured towards his armoire, fully aware nothing in there would fit her.

"Fine."

He started back towards the study. At the last moment he turned with a question. "How would you mask the sound of explosives?"

"Big or small?" she asked without missing a beat, rummaging through his wardrobe.

"A series of small ones."

"Fireworks or firecrackers, possibly all around the site you want to blow up." She frowned, sighing, when she fished out enormous brown longsleeve.

"How would you transport small parcels into a place you can't go to yourself, without raising too much suspicion?"

"One dropzone, or more?" she inquired, trying the garment on.

He admired her body for a while, noting scratches and bruises that marked her skin. Replied only when she looked up at him expectantly, after seeing how far the sleeves reached.

"I need my parcels spread out."

"If it's really small maybe you could use something like toy cars, radio controlled. Easy to steer and navigate with GPS.” She flapped her hands, amused by surplus of fabric stretching over them. “Or one of those funny quadcopters they use for filming stuff? If they can carry a camera, the same weight of anything else should be ok too, and you'll have the added advantage of strike from the sky."

"But they're loud," Bane argued.

"Well, what do you have your fireworks for?" she mocked. "Besides, if you do whatever it is you're thinking about on a day where people celebrate like New Year's Eve, or Independence Day, or a wedding, whatever, the sound shouldn't be too suspicious. And it would have to be dark for the fireworks, so no one would look up to see the drones anyway.” Ceasing folding of sleeves in the middle of a gesture, she glanced pensively ahead. “I like that idea, it’s neat."

"Maybe," he nodded, eyes distant too, mulling over the possibilities. Wondered briefly if she realized she just made a plan that will kill dozens of people.

He went back to his officers. 

"Have you heard?" he asked, back to Arabic.

"Most of it," said Barsad. 

Birdman glared at red lace peeking from the pocket of Banes combat slacks.

"I like the idea. It's crude, but simplicity will be effective enough with our limited resources on the spot,” he said at length.

Bane looked over to the calendar. "The operation will commence on the night of February sixth. Let's polish the plan, a month should be plenty of time to arrange everything.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

Days passed, each week tensing Helena's back more and more. Telling Bane would be the right thing to do, but she couldn’t make herself actually go up to him and do it. Indecision hung over her head like a sword, heavier with the knowledge that she wouldn’t be able to hide the truth forever. For now, she tried to relax into Bane's hands, working her muscles in an experienced, steady caress.

“Why so silent tonight?” he inquired.

“It is a wise talker, who knows when he has nothing to say,” she replied.

“Suit yourself.”

Helena frowned into the pillow. 

“You’re tensing up again,” he noticed. His hands stilled around her shoulders, thumbs circling lightly over back of her neck. “What is it?”

Tell him now, she thought.

“Bane I…”

She sighed, trying to gather the courage she did not have. What if he’d like her to give birth?

“Tell me,” more insistent now, he slouched over her.

She couldn’t.

“I want you to teach me to do this,” she lied, blurting out the first thing that came to her mind.

He moved away, leaned on one elbow beside her.

“Indeed? Is this what you were so bitchy last fortnight about?”

He didn’t believe her and obviously moved to study her face. Her eyes met his with a defiant stare.

“I had some doubts about my situation, you know.”

“Please, tell me more,” he said. Helena wondered if he was mocking on purpose, or did the mask make everything sound this way.

Right.

“I was thinking how I keep fucking my kidnapper for solid two months now and still I don’t know what he looks like. Girls are sensitive like that.”

Bane scoffed, uninterested, moved to leave the bed.

“And I do want to know how to give a proper massage.” She sat up, reaching out for him. Tried to give her best, earnest expression. “It would be nice if I knew how to return the favour, don’t you think?” Her gaze dropped to the scar stretching down his neck all the way to the hem of his pants. “I can see how your back is aching.”

Bane huffed, but didn't respond beyond that, got up with a grunt.

“Is it because I’d have to be behind you?” she inquired, honestly curious now.

“No.”

“Well, what is it then?”

Bane stayed silent, slowly unbuckling his belt.

Oh.

She didn’t think about that.

He undressed, Helena imagined, with a knowing smirk. Crawled back onto the bed, stretching on his stomach beside her. He stuffed a pillow under his head, the mask forcing him to bend his neck awkwardly to the side.

“Get to it, then. Let’s see what you can do and then I’ll correct you whenever necessary.”

Helena nodded, licked her lips. More than once she had a chance to watch Bane naked, but never quite like this. She wanted to put her hands everywhere, but there was just so much of him.   

“I will leave for a week tomorrow. Will you end by then?”

She took the chance to lightly smack his solid ass, and moved to his feet. Better be thorough. She oiled her palms and started kneading on the sole of his left foot.

“My back is a little further up, Helena. We have to work on your anatomy when I return.”

“Shoosh,” she said, smiling slightly. It still amazed her, how normal it was to just be like this with him. Outside he was always pure lethal professionalism, but behind closed door, or ajar door as it sometimes happened, he was just a man. Formidable and devilishly intelligent, but a man still.

“Are you going to get me new clothes?” she asked, switching to the other foot.

“That’s on the agenda, yes. Press firmer on the heel please.”

He sighed when she complied, moved his forehead down onto the mattress.

“Bring me a lipstick too, would you? The old one run out ages ago, and my lips are chapped.”

“I don’t like you with tint on your lips.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Sheer one would do then. It’s really uncomfortable to have dry lips, not that you’d have any idea.” She worked harder, irritated. He probably preferred it that way, she realized. “Do you even have lips under there?”

“Thought you knew what’s under the mask,” he murmured. The pillow muffled the sound, but she heard him fine.

“I had a glance once, but didn’t really catch anything. Too far away,” she lied. 

“Too bad for you.”

Hovering over his legs she contemplated biting him on the ass. Would he squeal? Probably not. Maybe he’d just knock her out. Not worth it, she decided, getting back to running her palms over his calves and thighs.

“One leg at a time.”

“I remember one day you took my orders instead of giving them yourself. That was nice. Can’t we go back to that?”

“Orders?” he raised his head slightly. “I thought they were suggestions.”

Scoffing, Helena reapplied oil, smothered it generously over his butt.

“You seemed to enjoy it.”

“Christmas comes but once a year.”

“Oh I disagree,” she cooed, hands busy with his flesh. She played for a few minutes, but the main event called to her with sporadically dancing muscles at Bane’s shoulders, and his steady but audible breaths. She slid further up, straddling his hips now, preparing to work as she initially requested.

“Start with thumbs along the spine,” Bane suggested, voice oddly slurred. 

Helena had a different idea. Pressing her front to his warm skin she simultaneously smoothed her palms over his sides and kissed the scar on his back all the way up. Did she imagine slight shudder when she reached his head?

“What do you think of this instead?”

“I didn't know that technique. It seems ineffective.”

Helena sneered, rose back to sit on his hips. Pressed with her thumbs at the base of his spine. 

“Better?”

“Mmm, good.”

She worked his muscles methodically, listening to his hints, putting her back into it. Massaging was surprisingly taxing, and Bane didn’t hold back his demands.

Panting slightly she plopped beside him when it was finally over.

“Your hands are weak,” he noticed. 

Helena watched him stretch on his side, rolling his neck a bit.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

He moved for the duvet, spread it over them both. Manhandled Helena on her side, her back pressed to his immense chest.

“I like cherries,” he murmured in her ear.

She giggled, settling more comfortably. His hand rested on the mattress by her belly.

Helena tensed up again. 

What would he think if he knew?

 

* * *

* * *

 

The syringe was filled with viscous green fluid. It had a sickly yellow undertone, reminding Bane of a carapace of spotted beetle ravaging North American crops. Small and seemingly unimportant, proved to be a greedy little bastard, taking no hostages. Destroying everything in its wake.

He stuck the needle in his arm and pressed the funnel with steady hand.

Dr Porter's research predicted an effective eight hour time between the doses. There were no patients like Bane, so he suspected he’d have to refresh the drug earlier. Six hours in, maybe. He left the mask on, but plugged in empty cartridges to see how the new strand would hold up. No one but him had to know what he was up to.

Already he could feel the familiar side effects come to him with double strength. He remembered the same feeling when he was given Venom for the first time. His skin was both hypersensitive to touch and almost unable to conduct pain. Any harm that he may have encountered registered in his brain, but at most as mild discomfort. His metabolism picked up, warming him up from the inside. His head seemed clearer, movements faster, light sharper.

Today’s dose was first one scheduled in a sustained plan, and he hoped to build a reasonable level of the drug in his system in following week. 

The possibilities were dancing before his eyes. He could fight with double efficiency if he didn’t have to protect the tubing of the mask. Any mission requiring impersonation or decoys could be completed smoothly. He could infiltrate targets himself. His personal excursions could grow longer than just an hour, which opened whole world of new information and contacts previously unavailable. He could enjoy a woman in a way he hadn’t in years.

He smiled.

Why wait?  

 

* * *

* * *

 

The room was pitch black. Not just without lights on, but purposefully made as dark as possible.

Helena hesitated on the precipice.

“Bane?”

“Bedroom.”

She glanced nervously at James, looking for some kind of consolation or a hint. He shrugged. Helena knew whatever they did was between her and Bane, but this was different. He never prepared anything. Now he came back from his trip and invited her to whatever this was. She didn’t know what would happen when the door shuts behind her and last source of light would be gone.

Wasn’t uncertainty the name of her relationship with Bane though?

One deep sigh and she went in. 

Stepping carefully, she didn’t bother reaching out with her arms. Layout of Bane’s suite was painfully familiar. Four steps to the sofa. Along long side of it two big steps to the left, then two more forward with tips of her fingers sliding on an armrest. Five small steps straight on, stranded in the middle of the room. She moved right hand to the side, and surely, there was an armchair, the one by the globe and a lamp. Another step, and her palm flattened on doorframe to the bedroom.

“Are you feeling shy today?” she teased, pausing her movements.

There was rustling of cloth, metallic sound of buckles and growl of velcro strap. Hiss of pressure leaving a press.

“Not shy,” he said.

In the quiet of the room sharp intake of breath Helena sucked in echoed off the walls.

He took off his mask.

The air left her lungs in a shaky exhale.

“Where are you?”

“Come and find me.”

She tried to smile, but muscles on her face didn’t respond properly, frozen in shock. She stepped in carefully.

“Talk to me,” she whispered.

“That would make things too easy.”

On her left, by the window? Helena stepped closer to get to the bed, anchoring her in dark space. She moved along the furniture, hoping to bump into him.

The air behind her stirred.

“Wrong way.”

The voice was right by her ear, humid breath caressing the lobe. She gasped and turned. Arms reached out to grasp thin air.

“Too slow.”

She smiled, hearing the amusement in his words. It was a pleasant low grumble, the unmistakable lilt still present. She wanted to hear more of it.

Another three steps forward, towards the bathroom now. 

“Ahh, you're missing all the clues.” Mocking. Again, behind her.

The man was a ghost.

Helena smirked. If she couldn’t catch him before he surrendered, she wouldn’t try in vain. Let him come to her. She turned to the bed, climbed on the covers. She wore a long flowing skirt today, so she arranged it in a way that would help her locate him, if he chose to get close. Sitting comfortably with her back to the headboard, she waited.

“Smart move.”

The proximity of his voice made her jump. Seconds after he spoke the mattress dipped under his weight. Rough palms found her legs.

“Hello there,” he said caressing her calves through soft wool. 

“Hi,” she replied. Now that she knew where he was, she reached out gingerly, to his face. Her hands touched his broad shoulders first. No shirt.

“Eager tonight, aren't we?”

He moved his hands up to her bared thighs, then further still to hook fingers under her panties. She felt slight stiffness underneath her fingers when she smoothed palms closer to his neck.

“You have no idea,” he growled.

Her arms followed his dip down, as he hovered over her barren flesh.

“I was waiting for this for so long.”

His cheek caressed joint of her hip and thigh, scratching her slightly with budding stubble. He inhaled deeply.

“You smell damn sweet.” His head twisted to the side, and he glided his lips on her leg.

“I do?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, pushing up to caress her soft abdomen. “Like almond pastry.”

“Are you going to eat me?” she blurted out. 

His breath tickled her stomach when he huffed a small laugh. 

“Who's eager now?”

Soft lips traced up between her still clothed breasts. She helped him take off her sweater, and he used the movement of her head, thrown back, to kiss along her neck and jaw. 

“I can feel your shivers under my lips,” he whispered, amazed. 

She believed him. Her skin was covered in goosebumps, rising tension quickening her breath and cording muscles in anticipation. Every sound was ringing in her ears loud as a drum, her own blood roaring deafeningly in her veins. Her palms moved up from his shoulders to cradle his scarred head. She didn’t think twice about marks under pads of her fingers, traced his ears with her thumbs, urging him higher to lie on top of her and align their lips. 

Tucking his nose behind her ear he sniffed again. 

“Do you have some kind of kink with smells?” she giggled.

“Maybe,” he admitted. His breath ghosted over her chin.

This was it.

Helena stilled completely when he rubbed his lips on hers. Dry skin was tingling from the stroking, so instinctively she opened her mouth to moisten it. The lick smoothened over Bane’s scars. 

He groaned.

They kissed hungrily, moaning over wet gliding of their tongues, nipping sharply with their teeth. Bane tangled his hand in Helena’s hair, angling her head just so. His other palm sneaked down between her legs.

“Let’s see how you taste on me, hmm?” he panted, gathering her juices on his digits. His index finger slid into Helena’s mouth, joined by his tongue. Sinfully silky, slightly sweet from her and salty from him.

She grabbed him by the hips, forced him closer to her core. Ground up insistently into his hardened cock.  

“Bane, please…”

“Not yet,” he hissed, shifting away. Roughly he shoved her skirt off, left the socks on. Dove right down to kiss her cunt. His hands flattened on her thighs, keeping her legs open. She grabbed onto him, as he licked up into her in long languid movements. He enjoyed himself, never rushing the luxurious torture he wrought on Helena's body. She whimpered, fisting the sheets in her hands, fighting to keep her legs open instead of embracing him. It was harder, when he shifted one palm to spread her nether lips open, pushing inside slowly with the other.

“Oh fuck, yes!” Helena moaned, her hands gripping his head and shoulder in with weakened hands. Her back arched under the combined pleasure of his thick fingers and skilful tongue. He was thorough, arm moving in unhurried deep thrusts, mouth hungrily lapping every ounce of her juices seeping out, sucking on her clit and urging her on with low growls.

Helena felt the buildup rushing towards the end, sparks of light erupting under her eyelids. Or were her eyes open? She couldn't tell in the dark, her only anchors to reality Bane’s hands and mouth, and the exquisite delight they caused.

Her moans rose, melding into one high pitched whine when she threw her head back. 

Before she realized it he left her cunt, reaching up to kiss her lips with fragrant wet mouth, fumbling with his belt and pants. 

She relished his weight settling on top of her, circled her palms over quivering, taut biceps. He thrust in hungrily, never leaving her lips, moaning into the kiss when she gripped him tightly. His hands moved to her head and hip, gathering her closer still as he toiled to reach his orgasm. 

There would be bruises from the way he handled her, but neither of them minded. She dug her nails into his arms, encouraging him, leaving her own marks. He shifted down, biting at her breasts, sucking taut nipples deeply into his mouth. Only harsh touches were left now, hands sliding off sweat slickened skin otherwise, pleasure so sharp only the pain could cut through to heighten it. 

His hips snapped to hers hard enough to finish each thrust with a wet slap, and he had to force her legs open even further, hooking his arm under one knee. 

She grabbed him by the back of his head, yanked sharply to guide him back to her lips. Knowing it was the end for him, she hooked her other leg behind his back, changing the angle to one that made it easier for him to move in a way he best liked at the end. Fast, strong, relentless. She wished she could see him.

He came with a strangled cry, one the mask would have distorted into a white-noise jumble, but without it he sounded painfully lost. His breath came in erratic, shuddering gasps, heart beating so hard Helena could feel the pulsating in her own cranium. 

She couldn’t stop a short giggle, laughing straight into his mouth and mingling breaths.

Bane also smiled.

“Again,” he said.

She sighed when he moved away, the air around chilling the film of sweat on her body. He turned her on her knees, and entered again, somehow still hard, breathing in the scent of her sweat at the back of her head. The urgency was contagious. Soon Helena was scratching at his thigh, bracing with other arm to sharpen meeting of their hips. Bane scaled her back with his mouth.

“Kiss me,” she demanded. 

He reached to turn her head, tangling his tongue with hers, strong fingers insistent on her jaw. 

“Not here,” she teased, when they parted for breath.

He laughed, deep and guttural.

His body left hers, and she turned on her back. Cradled his face for another kiss, stroking gently his cheeks and throat, mapping the lines he wasn’t really ready to let her see. 

Bane moved her hands up to the headboard. “Hold on, don’t let go.”

One more sumptuous kiss, and he moved down, stopping briefly at her breasts. His mouth returned to worshipping her pussy, this time focusing on her clit. He flattened his tongue around it, moved unhurriedly in circles, finally sucking hotly on the engorged nub. His palms caressed Helena’s legs, relishing in the way tendons corded at the juncture of her hips, her whole body taut with rapture.

He straightened, shuffling closer on his knees. Dried his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I want to suck you,” she moaned.

Pleasurable shiver ran through his spine. 

“Later.” 

There were many more things he wanted to do tonight.

He grabbed her by the hips, her bones like eggshells under his fingers. Moved even closer, ravenous for the feel of her body under his. Knees bent under her rear, he braced one hand on the headboard, guiding his cock inside with the other. 

His head was spinning. He moved slowly now, thoroughly, over and inside her, leaning down so close her fast breath gushed over his face. Tucked his head between her neck and shoulder, guided her hips with his free hand. 

Deeper, deeper, then faster and stronger he ground into her, encouraged by her breathy voice in his ear.

“Moan for me, yes,” she hissed. Sucked tender skin of his jaw. Bit him hard on the neck when she came, demanding he did the same to her. 

This is perfect, he thought.

They lay side by side after, as they usually did, chests heaving with deep breaths.

Even through the haze of pleasure, Bane felt pain bubble beneath his skull. 

Too soon, he thought in panic. It was only an hour or so. He wanted to enjoy this night, yet his time with the mask off was shrinking with the speed of light. Invisible brace constricted around his head.

Even the old strand of Venom gave him more leeway.

He forced himself to stay collected, even though his eyes fogged with red mist of rage.

A knock at the door of the suite reverberated through the still air. He was supposed to have entire night to himself, only bothered in case of grave emergency. Nothing was going according to his plans.

“You have to go,” he said through gritted teeth. Blindly he reached for the mask, cursing the device as he put it back over his face. He needed to replenish the cartridges, fast. He stood up to turn on the lamp.

Helena got out of bed right behind him. When he turned back from the dresser where he kept the drug, she stood close by watching him carefully. Her body was littered with bruises, imprints of his crooked teeth, red chafing from his stubble. Hair tousled, lips reddened, cheeks still pink. She looked absolutely beautiful.

“I will, but I want to talk later.”

“We will talk if and when I feel like it.” He noticed his temper flaring at her tone, the anger he felt for reacting to the new Venom transferring to the situation at hand.

“No, we will have a serious talk, as soon as you will have enough free time to think straight for an hour.”

He was on her before she even finished the sentence. 

“Will we?” He snarled. “You're confused my dear. You're mistaking fucking for caring. Passing time for mattering.“

She grinned. “You should go, right? Duties call.”

Cold calmness badly hiding rage, the same he also felt, infuriated him further.

He registered the blow he took only when she ducked and shrieked as his fist smashed into the wall right by her head. The dent in plaster was deep enough to uncover stone underneath. He swallowed, fighting trembling in his arms and the urge to hit her.

This was not him. This was not normal.

This was Venom.

He needed Talia. He needed to go to Dr Porter. 

“What has happened to you?”

His eyes opened. When did he close them? 

“Nothing. This is the way I've always been. Or haven't you noticed?”

She straightened her arms from their grip around her middle, balled hands in fists at her sides. Gathered her resolve for a biting retort. 

Knocking again, more insistent, made her jump.

He shouted something short at his men outside, voice filled with hostility.

“Put your clothes on,” he spat. Turned back himself to dress. 

They went out of his rooms together, Bane’s heavy hand holding Helena's neck. Her head inclined down, face was carefully wiped off of any emotion. But defiance glinted in her eyes, making him hold onto her in an attempt at control.  

Wordlessly he transferred her to James, eyes following her route even as he processed reports from Birdman. 

  
  
  


Walk back to her room was tense. Helena shook with agitation and from cold. Flimsy jumper she wore on her way to Bane, warmed by his unexpected call, was now painfully insufficient in preserving any warmth she might have still lingering in her bones. 

She felt as if it all seeped out with his ‘you have to go’.

James kept stealing glances at her, irritating her with his unspoken concern. He hovered close to the door when she entered, hesitant to close it.

“He probably had a reason to behave the way he did.”

“He always has.” 

“Yeah.”

He pulled the knob to him.

“James.” Helena reached out, brushing her knuckles over his wrist. “Thank you.”

He nodded and left her alone.

Silence was assaulting, forcing her to deal with events of past hour. Only sixty minutes passed and her mood, and mind, and heart, pivoted up and down like on a roller coaster so many times she felt physically dizzy.  

The chair scraped on the floor, her hands too weak to properly raise it like she usually did. She plopped down, smoothed her palms over familiar plane of the desk. Head thrown back, her eyes glazed unseeing over darkened ceiling.

Deep breath.

She was pregnant.

Exhale.

Bane was violent.

Inhale again.

He wouldn't let her leave. She didn't have to ask to know that. 

Shaky exhale.

What would be his reaction if she told him she didn't want to keep the baby?

Her brows furrowed in concentration. There was no clue, none whatsoever that she could recall, on the way he felt towards children in general and parenthood in particular. 

She was certain of her own standing on the matter. She could work with that. 

Her eyes focused on dried branches on her workstation. 

Oleander.

It was poisonous. Hardly deadly, but could induce reactions in her body hard to fake. What could she do with it, though? Fake suicide attempt? Provoke miscarriage? She wasn't sure what dosage was safe, what the exact symptoms were, ghosts of information eluding her save for the most rudimentary parts. Not enough to risk her life ingesting unknown amount of known poison.

Pointless.

Her eyes stung with angry tears she didn't have to hold back anymore. She cried herself to sleep that night, first time since her kidnapping.

 

* * *

* * *

  
  


Morning brought her answer to at least one of the questions she asked herself before going to bed. 

Mercenaries were hastily packing up, loading cars and bikes with gear and tools. She watched as they prepared for the departure, and then as the cavalcade left the monastery.

Bane took all medics with him.

There was slight possibility that someone she didn't know or notice had medical expertise. But with what little people were left in the monastery she doubted it. If something severe happened they must have had some backup plan. She would gamble there was some kind of hospital nearby, with friendly staff overlooking gunshot wounds in paperwork. 

All she needed to do was poison herself.

Piece of cake.

Four days passed since Bane left, steadily fraying Helena's nerves with gut wrenching fear. She was sure she conceived. She was sure whatever Bane would decide when she would tell him, there was no chance of ever leaving his clutches. However comfortable they might be.  

Without work, she was alone with her thoughts, all day long. Nights weren't much better, with memories of time spent with the mercenary keeping her company. Her dreams ranged from heartbreakingly sweet depictions of idyllic life together, through nightmares of torture, all the way to bleak visions of being enclosed somewhere forgotten, left to exist on the fringe of his world. 

On the morning of the fifth day Helena sat after a sleepless night, looking out on the courtyard. She took every chance she had until now, to try and get herself free. 

It was time to do it again, she decided.

She always got tea with her meals, so it was easy to soak two dried leaves of oleander in steaming mug. She left them in liquid until they softened, then discarded through open window. The less evidence, the better. She didn't eat the previous night, but fearing for the outcome of her actions she managed to swallow few spoonfuls of porridge. Everything tasted like ash. 

The mug sat on her desk, ominous despite its mundane appearance. 

There was a possibility Bane would want her to stay with him. Raise the child together. Maybe he would switch to less hands-on approach to his business…

She chastised herself. Bane was a killer. Hired gun, working for whoever paid more. Arrogant and destructive megalomaniac. There was no way he would choose being with her over his current life. He said so himself. There was no way she could live on like this forever.

The choice was clear.

She downed the contents in one long gulp. No turning back now.

Realizing she probably won’t ever come back to the room, she looked around. 

I will miss it, despite everything, she thought.

On impulse, she tucked Bane’s letter into her bra. 

Whatever happens, she would have a part of him with her.

* * *

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is.
> 
> Do tell, what do you think? :D


	14. Checkmate

* * *

* * *

 

Bitter taste of spiked tea lingered on Helena's tongue long after she gulped it down.

Three hours later it began.

The nausea was relentless. She hugged the bucket she used to dump water from painting, called out to her guard. The heaving was so severe she barely managed a sentence in between. After what felt like infinity she vomited everything she had in her stomach and started spitting with yellow bile. Her mouth was at once dry and filled with acrid bitterness. Heart jumped as if she were running for the past hour instead of kneeling on the floor. She was cold, shivering, but her forehead nearly burned to the touch.

James came to check on her, but rushed out almost immediately. He came back with medical charcoal and water, but she couldn’t keep anything down. Someone changed the bucket. Her vision blurred and swam, making it hard to depict who helped her to the bed. She drank from the glass they gave her and vomited some more. Then she couldn’t even hold the glass up or her head straight.

Third dose of charcoal caught on and she rested, sweaty, heart pounding, trying to focus on anything that would help her ignore sharp pain in her abdomen. She wouldn’t mention that to anyone. Not until she was sure she got rid of her problem.

Her eyes shifted to the movement at the door. 

Birdman, here? Unusual, she thought. He was talking but she had difficulties hearing, amazed at the fact that he came up here at all.

“Do you want to kill the woman carrying Bane’s child?” James asked, as calm as ever. Helena saw his left palm, hidden behind his hip, trembling slightly. 

No, it must have been the fever, she thought. 

Birdman looked her over, head tilted with curious but detached expression, processing new information.  

“Does he know?” 

“What do you think?”

Of course, Helena thought. Of course he knew. How could he not, with constant surveillance of her every move?

“There's nothing we can do anyway. Medics are away with Bane. She has to endure.”

“There is nothing we can do here. But we can take her to the hospital,“ reasoned James.

Birdman shook his head in disapproval, tilting it in an avian like way. 

James furrowed his brows, examining the shorter man pensively.

They both looked like big splotches of colour. Warm earthy browns and greens for James, cold blues and yellows for Birdman. Like sky and sea in Turner's pictures. One fidgety and tense, the other solid but relaxed. 

“You decide,” said James. 

Helena didn't hear the thing Birdman retorted with. Her ears were full of sloshing sound of blood cursing through her veins. Rhythmic and slow, like tidal wave receding. Curious, only few minutes back her heart was galloping.

Her mind drifted into comfortable darkness.

She surfaced for short instances, long enough to register light assaulting her eyes, and the sensation of being carried. Rough canvas of cargo pants under her cheek. Smooth leather of a car seat beneath her palm. Rocking. Too much light. 

Periodic beeping woke her up sometime later. They lay her in an unfamiliar white room, plugged in to EKG machine, an IV in her left arm. Her throat felt raw and abused. She sighed, rested her head back on the cool pillow. They must have flushed out the contents of her stomach. Good. 

She tested her reactions, sluggishly fixing muscles. One by one, first she checked her hands (weak, but responsive), than the reach she could bent her neck (no painful pulls of corded muscles), then legs. As soon as she tried to move her right, a violent cramp gripped her with strength similar to only one thing she felt in her life before. Right, her body needed more rest. There was still time. 

She looked around again. Her glasses were nowhere in sight, so she squinted trying to work out the layout of the room and her immediate surroundings. 

The door opened squeaking horribly. A man in white coat stopped on the threshold.

“I've been told to communicate with you in English,” he started. 

“Hello.” Helena smiled. “Are we allowed to talk without supervision?“

He raised his brows, surprised. 

“I didn't ask.”

Helena smiled weakly again. 

“Isn't there someone guarding the door?“

The man turned, went back out on the corridor. 

He wasn't sure of her status, and whoever brought her here was sloppy. Good. She closed her eyes to shield gleam of satisfaction. She was too weak still. Everything could change in few days she needed to recuperate. 

But hope grew in her chest.

The man came back with a gangly boy. Helena remembered him from the fight with Bane where Yuri got concussed. His arm was recently broken. She never learned his name.

Not great, but still good.

“I’m Dr Zakarian, I will be the only one who will administer your drugs and take care of you.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Helena.”

“I know what happened to you, but I’d like to find out why.”

“That makes two of us,” she smiled again. “Although I’m not sure how I got sick.”

The guard looked lost, so she smiled at him too. He nodded back at her.

“You didn’t get sick,” Dr Zakarian said, his voice stern. “You were poisoned.”

She looked at him, not bothering to feign surprise. Angled her head back to rest on the pillow.

“What with?”

“Not exactly sure, but symptoms align with a plant that is growing… where you live.” The last part was hesitant. He must have talked with someone more competent than the kid that was supervising her now. James? Birdman? No, the lieutenant never left the compound, not even once, during her stay with the mercenaries. So, probably James was nearby, and the kid. Who else?

“I have eaten only what was given to me, as always.” She said, purposefully drenching her tone in sadness. Then, as if she just realized she gasped, “What about the baby?”

“You’re pregnant?” The doctor was stupefied. “They never told me during the interview! How far along?”

“Ten weeks, maybe eleven,” she whispered.

“I’ll schedule tests right away. Wait here,” he stormed out. 

Helena bit back a retort. There was no point. She closed her eyes and chewed on bottom lip, trying not to show her giddiness. 

Her guard was fiddling absentmindedly with his gear. He looked scared.

Good, good, good.

She was transferred to another room, checked with USG. They took blood sample, another to their collection, as it turned out. Then they rushed her to yet another room, with group of men and women talking in a language she didn’t know. Her guard’s horrified expression told her everything she needed to know before Dr Zakarian had a chance to gather his guts to translate his colleague’s words.

“Did it die because of the poison?” Helena asked. 

“We can’t be sure. At this stage miscarriage is quite common. Shock to the system of course could encourage it, but we cannot be absolutely sure what the cause was.”

“Okay.” She didn’t pretend to be grief stricken. “What now?”

She was being transferred back to her room, doctor walking along her bed with his hand on the railing. He frowned slightly, measuring her response.

“What do you mean?”

“Does the foetus come out on its own?” 

“Oh,” he nodded. “It’s advisable to wait and see if it does. We can help with pills, and if that fails you can have a short procedure.”

“I see. How long should it take?”

“Couple of days, maybe a week.”

They arrived back at her room. Guard stayed outside.

Zakarian hesitated at the foot of the bed. He was middle aged man, and Helena suspected he was paid well not to ask too many questions. But she was sure he only treated mercenaries before. He was curious. Bane’s letter was at her bedside table, her clothes gone.

“Is there anything I should be mindful about during next hours or days?” she asked, trying to keep him occupied long enough to gather courage and ask all questions he wanted to.

“If you get cramps it would mean the foetus is going to be, um, expelled. It could also happen without any pain, but I don’t want you to be alarmed. There will be bleeding, similar to menstrual. Since you had AV blocks we gave you some atropine sulphate. You will get another shot later in the evening. It’s to improve heart's condition,” he specified when he realized the lingo was too hermetic for non-medic to understand.

Helena smiled.

“Is that it?”

“You’ll get two more shots tomorrow, and we’ll see how you fare. You should avoid strenuous exercise and stress in general for a while.”

She laughed mirthlessly.

“That will be impossible.” Perfect bait.

She saw the moment the question hanged on the tip of his tongue.

The door opened and in came James, with another man, one Helena didn’t know. They talked for a minute with Zakarian, ignoring her. She rested her head back. 

Two or three days in the hospital. Good prospect.

Doctor went out with the unknown man. James stared at her pensively.

“Bane will be on his way as soon as he settles his tasks.”

“Mhm,” she nodded. No set date, which meant Bane wasn’t sure how fast he could arrange whatever it was he had to do. It was really serious, if he went in a hurry and wasn’t done in almost a week. 

Good.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Compound in Norway was nearly compromised. 

Bane settled gradually from regular battle of wits with some CIA agents who were dangerously close to uncovering one of his most important bases. It was a close call, one that required all of his attention and cooperation of his most trusted officers.

He was distracted.

The news of Helena's poisoning came with a report concerning heavy movement of agents. In a stroke of genius he tricked them into walking in a minefield - a military base he knew the Norwegians wanted to keep a secret. His men took out few targets on both sides. The bureaucracy should be enough to stop anymore actions in this region for at least few months, if not years. Official version was of tragic accident during cross country training operation. Both Americans and Norwegians tied their own hands with their secrecy.

But Bane didn’t have time to celebrate his success. He tried contacting Talia, but she remained mute. He suspected an engagement concerning her father preventing her from responding. Dr Porter and Dr Isley were silent too. Reports concerning Helena's stable condition did nothing to soothe his agitation. 

He felt boxed in. Couldn’t move either way. All that was left was waiting.

He was a patient man, but he didn’t recognize himself anymore, moods swinging dangerously to the extremes. He knew it was the Venom, lived through those symptoms once before, when the drug was unstable shortly after being invented. Why was it happening with the new strand? The old one lost most of its potency after he switched to the latest version too. Bane was doomed to using new variation, enduring the mood swings and outbursts of temper that left him doubly irritated.

The only silver lining he could find was the fact side effects Talia once mentioned, devotion and allegiance to external powers, didn’t seem to affect him. At least there was that.

He meditated to pass the time.

Call from Talia woke Bane from a stupor he fell into few hours back. It wasn’t sleeping, more like waiting on standby like a machine, for a reason to act. She didn’t have good news for him, but gave him something to do.

Porter was dead. 

The League of Shadows needed the expertise of the good doctor, and a group sent to the lab found his carcass in pieces, hidden in jars all around. Dr Isley escaped.

Bane’s source of Venom dried up. He had to establish a new one immediately, to ensure his own safety. Everything else came second. Talia promised to help, as soon as her father would finish his most recent task, but Bane felt uneasy with having someone other than himself handling this issue now. The plan was ready since last month anyway.

He had to get to Taiwan, and fast. New Year and its celebrations won’t wait for him to make sure the scribe was safe.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Helena looked out of the window. It was facing inner courtyard, and she observed two of her guards talking idly while smoking. The kid was called Ali, older guy Mohammad. James was just outside her door. Evening was slowly falling over the valley and decrepit town they were in. Guards on the parking lot just finished eating some take out burgers they brought after short trip away.

Everything looked grey and dull. Buildings were washed down, sky steely grey, clouds covering everything in an even layer. People on the street, if there were any, seemed weighed down with pressure of their lives.

She was sure the whole town was in Bane’s pocket.

Her strength wasn’t back yet, but resolve helped her overcome what little weakness she felt. She feigned dizziness and confusion when Zakarian was nearby. If James was within view she mostly just lay down, trying to sleep. She knew he wasn’t the one to be fooled; after all he somehow did know about her pregnancy. Recalling Bane’s words she sighed. ‘You see things in repetition so often you notice details you wouldn't otherwise.’ Well, she wasn’t the only one, it seemed.

She considered her options. Men at the door changed every four hours, she observed them closely the day before. In the parking lot she saw a very familiar jeep. Bane would be back soon, probably tomorrow or day after that. 

She had to act fast. 

Her plan was solidified in seconds. In the early morning she would go out, break into a car. Drive away as far as she could. Maybe hide in some kind of forest, maybe catch whatever authorities she can. 

Drumming fingers on a windowsill impatiently, she pinpointed flaws in her scheme.

First, clothes. She was dressed in simple hospital issued linen shift. Her own things were nowhere to be seen. No shoes either.

Second, car keys. She needed either to steal a car with keys inside, or snatch keys and find a car that belonged to them. Or pickpocket jeep keys from one of the guards. Both equally dangerous and time consuming. 

Third, she didn’t know where she was, so the direction of her escape was also difficult to discern. What if she went on the road back to the monastery?

Four, what were the chances the authorities she might find would be corrupt and working for Bane? Logic suggested pretty big, she thought, the closer she was to the monastery. So she had to go away quite far before she reached out to anyone.

Five, how far could a stolen car go even assuming the tank would be full? What would she do when the gas ends?

Forehead pressed to cool glass, she sighed, misting the window with her breath. 

It was difficult, but she could improvise. Acting on instinct, thinking fast on her feet were her forte. She could do it. After all, her life depended on her resourcefulness now.

She didn’t want to think what would happen if Bane came back before she could at least attempt to get away. Knowing his determination and cunning he could convince her to do whatever he pleased. That's why she wouldn't even mention the possibility of being pregnant to him in the first place. She was too weak, when it came to being with Bane. Even if logically she concluded on the only possible outcome, tiny voice in her head still whispered that maybe, somehow, everything would magically change and she could have the peaceful life she wanted. With him. 

Impossible. 

Door opened with squeal of hinges. She smiled pleasantly at Zakarian.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Still pretty weak, but otherwise ok. No cramps, no pain. Some dizziness.” She sat on the bed so he could give her an injection. “I’m actually a bit cold, but I don’t want to sit in bed all the time. Do you think I can get a sweater or maybe just regular clothes?”

He nodded, not really looking at her.

“Sure, I’ll bring you something in the morning.”

“But it's early still, and another day like this is going to drain me faster than a battery in a toy car. Can you find something now? And maybe a book?” she tried sounding lost. Don’t overdo it, she chided herself, fighting the urge to bat her eyelashes.

“I’ll see what I can do. Don’t know if I can find anything to read in English.”

She sighed, pressing with a cotton pad on the prick in her arm, looking at the floor. “Anything will do. I don’t want to stay alone with my thoughts now.” Closed her eyes, counted to three. “It’s all starting to sink in.”

He pressed his palm on her shoulder, reassuring.

“I’ll be back in half an hour.”

She let out shaky exhale as soon as he left.

Zakarian brought her complete change of clothes, with sneakers, and a magazine. She snatched the paper greedily, at once mesmerized with glimpse of the world she didn’t see in almost a year. It visibly disturbed him, but he left without mincing words. She ignored him after saying her thanks, engrossed in reading. 

James left after bringing her dinner, changing few words with Mohammad who took over. Perfect. Ali would have the worst guarding shift, midnight to dawn. She napped, without fear of oversleeping. She was too nervous, and whenever she was, it was certain she would wake multiple times during the night. 

Just as she expected, she came to when it was still dark. Focusing after initial disorientation of recovering from sleep she picked up a hushed conversation behind her door. She recognized the voices; guards changed. Right on time.

Getting up quietly seemed like second nature now. Still, she didn’t have keys, but she had pretty good idea where she might find them. She saw Ali drive earlier on. What would it take for the boy to give up the tool he used? Coercing? Violence? 

Carefully, she gathered everything she might need. Tucked Bane’s letter back into her bra.

Helena waited. Counted up to five thousand, then to three thousand, and then to a hundred just to soothe her nerves.

It was time to act.

She cracked the door open. Ali was sitting in a chair, busy with something on his phone. An old model, and since she never saw any electronic devices on the compound, probably a burner bought in a gift shop downstairs. 

She tsked as quietly as she could. The boy nearly jumped out of his skin.

“You shouldn’t be up here!” he hissed.

“I know, I know, apologies,” she soothed. Smiled up sadly, opening the door further, praying the hinges would squeal as little as possible. “Can you fix me a smoke?”

“No. We’re in a hospital!”

What do you know. Another mercenary with principles.

“I’ll go crazy if I don’t smoke right now.” She hunched slightly to get exactly to his eye level. “Just the one,” she whispered.

He visibly hesitated.

“You can’t smoke in your room, the smoke detectors will go crazy.”

Bingo.

“Can’t we go to the roof real quick?”

Ali shook his head. “Negative. No clear path, too many people on the way.”

Good, good, good.

“Take me to the parking lot, then.” She ordered. “One smoke and we’ll be back.” She sighed. “God knows I won’t be able to see a cigarette once Bane’s back.”

A gamble, but it paid out. The boy paled a bit at the mention of his boss's name. Helena was sure he was uncertain on her exact influence on the mercenary. Better play things safe, never know if your boss’ woman is a vengeful one...

“Okay, but don’t try anything funny.”

Helena scoffed.

“Where would I run?”

She couldn’t believe her luck. They went down to the parking lot without meeting a soul. Corridors were gloomy, lightened up only with emergency lights, and the lamps outside barely diluted the darkness to a paler shade of grey. An icy drizzle started to fall as soon as they stopped by the ashtray. 

Long while passed without a word.

“Man, I hope tomorrow’s lunch will be something better than the sludge that I had for dinner,” Helena started.

Will he take the bait again?

“We went for burgers,” Ali grinned.

“Real ones, or McDonalds?” she teased.

“They have here only the local drive thru. Still it’s better than shit we have to endure daily.”

“Amen to that.” 

Ungrateful bastard, she thought. There was nothing wrong with rice, vegetables and beans.

“I can’t imagine Muhammad at the window though. With his manners? ‘Give me what you got, or else!’” She tried her best to emulate low voice of the man in question. 

Ali laughed.

“Yeah, that’s why I ordered!”

“They let you drive, or did you have to lean over his lap?”

“Eww, no, I have the keys always.” He fished them out of his pocket. “Easier to make me run errands.”

Before he finished the sentence, Helena punched him in the nose. Snatched the keys and with the same movement grabbed his wrist. Pushed on the elbow. It was the broken hand, and in a flash, her young guard was on the ground, cradling his dislocated limb. She stuffed his mouth with his scarf. Kneeled on his chest, automatically grabbing his handgun. 

Their cigarettes lay forgotten on the pavement, faint wisps of smoke rising towards the sky.

“Listen here you little shit. You’re a dead man now. Run. Run as far as you can, because we both know you won’t live through your incompetence. I will be your distraction. Hide. Maybe you get to live, if you’re fast enough.”

He nodded, probably too stupefied with shock to do anything else.

Helena didn’t waste any more time. She dashed straight for the jeep. 

About two blocks away from the hospital she heard gunshots. Only two, then eerie silence of an early morning reigned in the air again. She gulped, floored the gas and tried not to think about the look in Ali’s eyes at the last moment as she kneeled over him.

Hope.

She felt it spreading its wings in her chest too. Dangerous. She should focus on the next step. The immediate action she was about to take. Where to go?

There were some road signs, but the alphabet was foreign, and even familiar Russian letters underneath weren't much help. Frustrated she slowed down by the next blue board, determined to get some kind of information out of it.

Ereban.

Russian ‘b’ was read ‘v’, ‘e’ sounded like ‘ye’.

Yerevan? The capital city of Armenia.

She grinned, but wiped the excitement with a deep inhale. Too soon to celebrate. She had well over three hundred kilometres to go. Armed men in pursuit close by. 

Her fate would be decided during the unfolding day.

 

* * *

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, I had to cut this chapter in half, because it was so massive. Expect an update soon. :)
> 
> Next chapter, "Oddball Objects", in preparation. ;)


	15. Oddball Objects

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo!  
> A bit later than initially anticipated, but it’s finally here!  
> I went to see “Assassin's Creed” to get some inspiration for Talia, and it actually worked. Who would have thought? ;)

 

* * *

* * *

 

As with anything else it turned out mercenaries liked to keep the jeep ready to roll at all times. Tank was nearly full, Helena noted with mouth slacking relief. She wanted to get away as fast as possible.

Keeping the maximum possible speed at all times would be great, but on unknown mountain paths it was unwise to speed too much. Helena maintained considerable distance between herself and other cars on the road. There weren't many, which she noted absentmindedly. 

She sighed frustrated after yet another series of sharp turns. Thirty kilometres per hour. Pathetic.

“Helena.”

The voice was muffled, but the shock of suddenly hearing her name in this distinct mechanic rasp made her stop dead. Good thing the road was empty and she wasn’t going too fast after all.

“I know you can hear me.”

She tried to slow down her heartbeat with measured breaths. 

Okay, calm down. Locate the device. Sound is muffled. Glove compartment? 

She opened the plastic hatch and sure enough found a yellow abomination of a radio lying peacefully on top of some ammo and maps. Gingerly she took it in her hands. The rubber shell felt clammy under her fingertips.

“You know running is of no use. I will find you sooner rather than later.”

What was the range of those things? Two kilometres? Twenty?

“Get back to the hospital.”

She left the radio on passenger seat, started the engine again. There was no chance she would be stupid enough to pick up conversation with Bane.

“Remember the last time I was displeased with you.”

In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought. Stopped the car on the side of the road as soon as terrain levelled. Looked around the jeep for the first time, assessing her resources. 

She had a handgun with twelve bullets, the one she took from Ali. Folding knife was hidden in the glove compartment. Familiar rifle and two full packs of appropriate ammo in the trunk.

“I know where you are.” Came Bane's voice from the front of a car. Yeah, well, I don’t, she thought. How far to the nearest town? Helena straightened, scanning the terrain. 

On the fly she concocted a simple plan. She wouldn’t just let them apprehend her like last time. She’d fight.

The jeep carried her few kilometres further to a spot she saw from afar. It seemed perfect. On top of a hill, car blocking the way up behind her back, herself perched with view of the road she suspected mercenaries to take. 

She positioned herself with the rifle, tested its accuracy. Three shots in and she felt fairly confident she could hit her mark. A wooden footbridge stretched over the stream in a narrow line before her, road sneaked down the mountain and back up to her spot. She had an excellent vantage point, tucked between two rocks and a bush. She could change her cover in a minute, to slightly less shielded place. Run away to the other side of the hill she occupied, if necessary.

Perfect.

Her hands shook for the first five minutes, but she settled. There was nothing she could change now. No point mulling over the possibilities. If she came out alive, maybe then she would let herself dissect this day. Not right now.

Ears picking up hum of engines rolling her way, she peeked through the scope at the road. Few seconds passed and from behind the corner came cars and motorcycles. Bane with his entourage. The radio back in the car rambled on, but she heard only muffled noise from the distance. She drew a stabilizing breath, reloading the weapon. Index finger of the right hand was prostrated over the trigger, not yet positioned to pull.

Helena didn't close her eyes when the shot finally rung through the air.

They knew her position now. They knew she was armed. They knew she would harm them.

She hoped her plan would work.

 

* * *

* * *

 

One of the SUV’s tumbled violently on its side, the tire blown up. Booming sound of bullet leaving a gun echoed in little valley they entered. Bane snarled, not looking back at his men. He turned the gas handle further, speed blurring his peripheral even more in the dim light. His vision tunneled on his target anyway. 

How dare she.

Static frizzled in his ear. 

“Guys in the car are injured. One casualty. Bane, we’re sitting ducks. Advise.”

“Press on.”

He was in the avant-garde himself. She wouldn’t shoot him.

Fountain of sand rose before the bike, slowing him down a bit. The shot was close. Almost, as if she miscalculated his speed. Or as if she wanted to warn him.

He snarled again.

Another shot reverberated through the air as his bike climbed the slope, but he didn’t care in the least who or what was the target. He stopped with screech of back tire when he saw the stolen car blocking the road, vehicle hazard-warning lights on.

“Helena.”

He dismounted and strolled towards where he suspected she should be. Behind him three of his men cautiously secured his back. But he knew she would never harm him.

She stood by the road, arms hanging by her sides. Handgun in her palm, seemingly ready to shoot, but he saw the safety pin - on. The rifle propped on the boulder on the side posed no threat.

“Toss it away,” he ordered.

Cheeks glistening with tears, her eyes were shining with steel resolve. Jaw tightly sealed, lips flattened into an unfamiliar thin line, she was a picture of grim certainty.

Bane felt his senses sharpen further with an unmistakable adrenaline rush.

“Drop it,” he repeated, taking a cautious step towards her.

She thumbed the safety. Moved shoulder and arm to raise her hand.

The mercenary lost it. He shot towards her with dizzying speed. Conscious effort was necessary not to crush her humerus when he reached her. The pressure was still enough to force Helena to lose her grip on the gun. 

“I am not your property,” she whispered.

He softened the blow in the last second, but still the punch he swung at her came nearly reflexively.

Helena doubled over, then fell to the ground, clutching her stomach.

He turned away, looking at his men, breathing deeply to reign over his rage. Waved over to Barsad. Down below Helena started laughing hysterically, the sound of her manic cackling stopping only briefly when paroxysms of pain constricted her insides.

He closed his eyes, swallowing thickly. Earlier today he loaded vial of the new strand into his mask, desperately hoping it would keep the pain at bay better than the old. It did, but he still was susceptible to violent outbursts more unpredictable than he would have liked. He thought he could control it, in time. Not just yet. Not with how exhausted and high strung he was. Not with emotions he experienced while seeing Helena like this. Distant and cold.

Barsad frowned and picked up his pace, looking worriedly at the scribe.

Bane glanced down, disturbed by her continued laugh.

“She’s bleeding,” Barsad observed, kneeling by the woman, trying to inspect the damage.

“Oh it’s nothing darling,” she cooed. 

Bane felt skin at the back of his neck prickle with impending dread. 

“Probably finally lost the baby.”

All men fell completely still. To Bane even sounds of rustling leaves muted, leaving only incessant howl of wind. Everything seemed to stop, every movement heavy as if the air was syrup instead of gas. He watched Helena's fingers dig into the ground with the next cramp, her shout of pain and irregular panting the only things his ears could focus on. Dirt blackened her nails, hid paint stains on pads of her fingers. 

The signs were all there, but he was too arrogant, too stupid to notice. 

Barsad looked up at him, said something. Bane automatically nodded, registering the meaning but not really hearing the words. He turned around and went to his bike. Steady steps made him feel as if he was pulling parts of his skin away with each metre he travelled. 

Picking up radio he gave orders to his men. 

Didn't stay to watch Barsad worriedly carry Helena to the nearest car.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Medical staff beyond the glass panel worked frantically. Liver laceration due to blunt force trauma of his blow resulted in internal bleeding. Bane knew their movements were faster and backs stiffer because of the knowledge that he was there. He watched gloved hands browned with blood disappear into the tissue, waxy looking skin open like a burlap sack to reveal the insides of a woman he…

Eyes closed he sighed, the mask distorting huff of air into threatening growl. Did he love her? Maybe. He certainly grew too fond of her. He cared. That was no way for a mercenary to be. Shoulders hunched tiredly he kept on looking at red stains marking stainless steel tools. They looked brown under the cold light, surrounded by standard hospital blues and greens. The colours were pale, ugly. Depressing.

Glass reflected a movement behind him. James.

“Report,” said Bane, tone wary and calm.

The black man stood at attention, observing the surgery along his commander.

“As we reported before, she ingested poison on February fifth. She was vomiting violently since around eleven. Birdman dismissed it, but there were irregularities in her heartbeat that concerned me. I bluffed about the pregnancy to convince Birdman to let me take her here.” He smiled at the memory, shaking his head. “I never thought my bluff would actually prove to be true…”

“Stay on topic.”

“Yes, Sir. She has been taken care of. We still aren't sure who administered the poison-”

“She did,” Bane observed.

James turned his head sharply, shocked.

“Why would she poison herself?”

“ She's willing to go to that extent to be just a little closer to freedom. Continue.”

James hesitated, unsettled with Banes indifference. 

“Right. The doctor took care of her, administered rest and medications. We learnt that she miscarried.”

“Why wasn’t I informed?”

“By the time we had that information you were in radio silence on your way to Taiwan.”

Bane nodded. It was a hectic week, he barely had a chance to nap. Flights were his only respite, but took out most of the time for communication.

“We spent sixth and seventh at the hospital. Regular shifts of four hours between me, Muhammad and Ali guarding her door. She escaped in the early hours of eighth. Ali was on duty and she managed to lure him downstairs. We have no idea how she did that. She also overpowered him, took his weapon and car keys.” James frowned, still not really believing it was the same woman he watched over for almost a year. She seemed so delicate and cautious. So calm and peaceful, even right after her escapes. “Muhammad had to get out to piss and he noticed Ali wasn’t on his post. He woke me up and we searched the premises. Ali was still at the parking lot. We interrogated him and disposed of the body after. I contacted Birdman with a report and we split to look for her separately. By the time you landed we got her approximate coordinates, and the rest you know.”

“Thank you,” said Bane. Dismissed James with a wave of his hand.

“Permission to speak freely, Sir?”

“Go on.”

“I think she wanted to tell you. She wasn’t herself this past month.”

Bane nodded, silent. 

He noticed. The stiffness she couldn’t shake, no matter how often he helped her relax. Openings in conversation that started heavy and turned into frivolous topics. The simple fact that she never denied him sex. The way she instinctively clutched her stomach last week during his Venom fuelled outburst. 

Bane scoffed.

He was blind with his own arrogance. And now he was looking at the result of his mistake.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Doctor Zakarian was fidgeting nervously. His palms smoothed over upper side of his thighs in a gesture that made Bane cringe inwardly. He would relish in breaking the man’s arms. He’d pull on his fingers until every little bone would be disjointed and then he’d squeeze for good measure. 

The mercenary closed his eyes briefly, rolled head around to ease strain on muscles of his upper back.

“Tell me, how did she behave during her short stay here? Did she engage you in any way?” he asked levelly, not looking at the physician. Medical report was unnecessary since he read all documents available, but he knew that there were hidden treasures in the way people spoke. They recalled information and as they talked about it, new intel would appear, even if everything was written down previously, nearly the same. Nearly. That was all the difference Bane needed. 

Before the medic had a chance to speak, the door opened. Barsad let himself in, without a word handed Bane clunky satellite phone. Ushered Zakarian out of the room before he also left.

Bane put the receiver by his ear.

“Speak.”

“My friend,” Talia’s unmistakeable voice failed to soothe his temper like it usually did. He waited for the silence to ring out. He wasn’t in the mood to play games. “I want to know where we stand with your Venom supply.” Talia continued. “My men look for Dr Isley, but there isn’t much to go on. Meanwhile I told them to preserve the lab and everything in it for future inspection.”

He didn’t hide a sigh that escaped him. His little girl still cared about him. He was still important to her. Enough to disobey clear orders from her father and not only contact him, but meet regularly and even help him with acquiring his drug. He could rely on her.

“I took care of everything on my end. Supply is secured, source is safe. I’ll contact you again when I settle my things.”

“There is one more topic I wanted to discuss.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“I’m afraid it can’t, my friend.” there was a steely tone in her voice. One Bane never before heard used towards himself. Silently, he waited.

“Little bird told me your scribe acts up. Regularly. I’m concerned, Bane.”

She didn’t sound worried, he thought. She never really was. What was she getting at then, revealing that she had an informant towards his men?

“She isn’t your problem, Talia.”

“But she is yours. And I warned you, didn’t I, that she’s going to become one. You didn’t listen. Father also dismisses my counsel until it’s too late. Were you able to find her?”

“Of course.”

“What are you planning on doing with her?”

Bane stalled with another heavy sigh. Helena asked him the same thing back in October. He knew then, but now everything seemed to elude his grasp, the events shaping outcomes he thought impossible. He had to talk with the scribe.

“None of your business. Who spies for you?”

“Bane,” he could hear her smile, could almost see the way her beautiful face solidified into a mask of contempt. “Let’s stop pretending you’re mad at me for that. What did she do to you to get under your skin like she did? Whole month in one place? Really?”

“I won’t speak with you on that matter. It’s over. We’re moving HQ to Norway, since it’s secured. Contact me there when you decide to tell me which of my men is the weak link.”

The connection was severed with just one press of his thumb.

Clean and easy.

He knew what he had to do.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Letting go was something he taught himself very early on. Letting go of dreams of saviours coming to his rescue. Letting go of hope for a different life. Letting go of Talia. Letting go of his desire to live peacefully. He thought he was an expert at detaching himself from his emotions. Mind over matter. Logic over whims of the heart. 

Taking a deep breath he tried to fill his lungs to their capacity. Old Venom wasn’t masking all of the pain, but he didn’t trust himself enough around Helena to use the new version again.

Knowing now what caused everything to crash down, he chided himself for the thousandth time. Information was the key. Having full knowledge was paramount. Never again would he let himself stay ignorant on any subject, no matter how trivial.

He knew exactly what kind of father he would be. If he chose path lesser man craved, that is. The result of his efforts roamed the world in the guise of Miranda Tate. Talia, his precious little girl. The circumstance of her childhood didn’t seem to him a redeeming point towards how she turned out to be as an adult. He raised a perfect killer. Of course, Talia's natural talents and abilities played vital part in what she turned out to be. Her heritage notwithstanding, at her core she was built to take. Always taking from others, never really giving anything substantial in return. It was her fatal flaw, one she treated as strength. 

But Bane knew from experience he wasn't that kind of person. He could give to others, sacrifice himself. He had to spend years burying that part of his character beneath layers of cold calculations. Despite his best efforts, his life was ruled by emotions in that way. 

Never did he suspect that simple partnership would hold this much promise to his battered heart. No dramatic gestures. No tragic dilemmas. Only being, together, side by side with another human. Leaning on each other. Until now, he only suspected he might

want that, one day. Helena showed him all details he missed in his fantasies. Everything he yearned for was seemingly already in his palm. 

The perfect life.

He blew his chance at that quite spectacularly.

He was at his core a very greedy man. All of his life he wanted. Everything he did was plotted, so that he would fill all of the holes in his life. Time spent with the scribe, especially the unashamedly hedonistic November, reminded him with full force what he craved. What he could not have. At the very least, not along with his current occupation.

He realized he was truly happy during that fleeting month. Work put on the back burner leaving only research, training, spending quality time with Helena. The most peaceful period of his life. Four weeks.

The scribe stirred and he watched as she groggily opened her eyes, assessed her surroundings. Her vision must have been blurred without glasses, but she focused on him with an intensity that left no uncertainty, whether she knew it was him or not.

“So you win. Again,” she whispered. Her voice was hoarse, but steady.

“Why did you do this?”

“I didn't want to be pregnant and I wanted to go away. Two birds with one stone.”

Bane was impressed. An ordinary woman, stronger than anyone would suspect. Ruthless. Goal oriented. She would make a perfect mercenary. 

“You keep running from me.”

Helena laughed, shallow breath wheezing out in an unpleasant whine. She grimaced as her stomach complained over the contractions.

“I want to be free.”

“You could be just as free with me,” he said. His hands gripped the railing of the bed at her feet. He barely even registered when he moved closer.

Helena’s eyes were bloodshot and framed by dark circles, but they gleamed with something at his words. Her lips formed a quivering pouting line for two seconds.

“So you want to play house?” Helena threw his own words back at Bane. "What kind of life can you give me, hmm?" She hissed venomously. "Running away all the time? Hiding? Stealing every little thing? Terrorizing innocent people for money?" She looked him over. Her breathing picked up a notch with the stress, echoed with erratic beeping from the machines she was plugged up to. "You can't even admit to yourself how tangled up you are. I'm not going to be a part of that. I never wanted to be."

Bane was silent. He heard the accusation in between the lines.

Helena regarded him pitifully. She must have noticed recently increased muscle mass, thick veins popping out on the skin stretched too thin, slight greenish discoloration around his neck. 

He knew the Venom was changing more than just his self-control.   

"What have you done to yourself?"

"What have I done?" he spat. "It is you, who have deceived me!" Jaw tightly set, he huffed deep breaths through the mask, steadying his nerves. He never wanted to be a father, but the fact that she hid the truth from him, for weeks no less, made him regret all opportunities that they missed. She took away control. Bane wasn't accustomed to that, not in the least.

Her lips twitched in an unamused, lopsided smirk. "It is double pleasure to deceive the deceiver."

He straightened his back, clenched his fists. 

"You will get your freedom."

She swallowed heavily, readying herself for his words. Dreading them, perhaps? 

Bane was curious what was going through her head. He was sure she knew what he was thinking. There were only two outcomes to this situation. Either he lets her go jeopardizing himself and his men, or kills her, hiding his blunder. An easy choice.

"You will get your freedom from everything that would remind you of me and this place," he continued. 

The finality in his voice was unmistakeable.

"I’m glad it’s dead." She rested her head back, never taking her eyes off him. "If I could, I would carve it out of my body myself."

"And they say I'm the monster."

"If it was your plan to keep me tied to you that way, you are."

Again, Bane wondered what went wrong. Where was his fatal misstep that led to all this. That he let himself be distracted to the point of losing control. Of trusting.

"Maybe it's for the better. Monsters breed another monsters," he replied finally.

“And here I was, thinking monsters were bred by ignorance.”*

He stared at her in silence. 

Helena gulped over ball of anger in her throat. Her eyes watered again. 

Bane didn’t want her to cry. There were so many things he wanted to tell her. So many he wanted to hear in return. But it could never be. They both knew it.

"This conversation serves no purpose anymore,” he said flicking a dial on the IV.

Darkness came mercilessly over Helena without a chance for a parting word. He watched until her eyelids shut, trying not to memorize every line of her face.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Exhaustion set in his bones, heavy like constant weight pulling him down. Reluctantly, he upped dosage of the drug. There was a short mission planned soon, an extraction in Uzbekistan. He knew now it would be a nasty, overly violent affair. 

He wanted it to be.

Bane couldn't mask his poor moods and bad reactions caused by new strand of Venom, so he chose to forge them into fuel for anger. Making them useful was critical to his self-respect. To his sanity. What would he do otherwise? Mope around the compound, drowning in silence of his suite? 

His books were all there with him. Not only those few he had at hand back in Armenia, but also whatever he collected in other bases was shifted here. The eclectic and comprehensive library he always wanted. It was nearly complete in its basic form. Of course, as long as he lived it would grow, like a garden. Sanctuary to knowledge only he could access. Rows of volumes stretched along walls of his study, filling the room with familiar dusty fragrance.

Bane had little over a week after his last talk with Helena to re-establish himself on the new compound. During his stay at the hospital, the monastery was wiped clean of any trace of mercenaries, and was now inhabited solely by real monks. Ones from the acquainted convent nearby, the same one Bane used to store any artwork he deemed important enough to keep.

Everything was wiped clean, packed, inventoried and collected swiftly. And then he disposed of the last memory of the compound - its commander. Birdman lost his third and final chance at redemption with Helena’s latest escape. Bane made him walk a plank stretching from the battlements towards nearly ten metre drop below, a sea of dust and rocks unwelcoming and unforgiving. 

Birdman couldn’t fly, after all.

The mercenary moved all his assets to Norway, his men a touch more sombre now. They all felt uneasy. An era of their life was about to end, but they didn’t yet know when or why. And then the news hit. Ra's al Ghul died during his latest operation to rid the world of the decadent and unfair. Gotham's Dark Knight bested Demon Head.

Talia came to him nearly instantly, asking for help to reign over the League. Bane had been visited earlier that day by officers of Ra’s al Ghul, asking him to become the leader himself.

He was tired.

They all agreed on him serving Talia as her tactician and general of the League’s army. Officers thought he would pull all strings, and neither the mercenary nor Talia straightened out that misconception. Bane bitterly thought that he would gladly seep into duplicity again, for his love of his little girl. Suffering in silence was his second nature.

Right now he hosted his old protégé turned new boss in his library. Maskless and in civilian clothes, he sipped Moroccan mint tea from an ornate metal cup, an old gift from Talia complete with matching teapot that stood on a table nearby, wisps of vapour trailing lazily towards the high ceiling.

“How long does it give you without the mask?” Talia inquired, her melodic voice calm now, cold and collected as if she wasn’t crying her eyes out just few short hours ago. They were angry tears, emotions provoked by helplessness and the realization her father was bested by a pupil that was a failure. She was full of impotent rage. It worried Bane, but not enough to act just now. She could work it out on her own, and if not, he would be there for her to help.

“Less time than with the old strand,” he replied, making his tone casual. Not showing his doubts at the situation. He would get to the bottom of that himself. “But the painkiller side is more efficient, so overall it evens out.”

“I see,” she said, caressing spines of books with pads of her fingers as she walked along the shelves. The display case at the end caught her eye, and Bane watched as she strolled towards it with intent. His back straightened involuntarily.

“Is this it?” Talia turned to him, surprise mixed with mirth and something darker he couldn't pinpoint, painted on her face.

He got up and joined her. “My little treasure, yes. Lost book of Aristarchus of Samos, first ever mention of heliocentrism complete with notes on his calculations, commentary, and quite surprising ethical treatise on its impact. Sole original and the only copy.” 

Without asking she reached in, pulling out Helena's work to study it closer. 

“The colours are so vibrant!” 

Her enthusiasm seemed genuine, but Bane knew Talia too well. He waited for the real question.

“What happened with your little guest back at the monastery?”

There it was.

“Did your chirping bird lose his voice?”

She sent him a pointed look.

“You know he lost much more than that. I'm tired of games between us.“

Bane looked her in the eyes, weighing the steel resolve he saw in her icy blue stare. The games as she called them were always at play, it seemed, whenever there was something to gain between them. What was the point in arguing she was the one to corrupt Birdman into sharing information?

Bane wondered how much he had to lose if he gave up Talia as well. 

He didn't let the silence stretch too long, his voice didn't waver when he said calmly, “She's dead.”

It was for the better.

* * *

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ignorance breeds monsters to fill up the vacancies of the soul that are unoccupied by the verities of knowledge.  
> Horace Mann
> 
> There are also two movie quotes. One blatantly stolen from brilliant performance of David Suchet as Hercule Poirot in "Three Act Tragedy,” 2010. The other, the obvious one, from Stanley Kubrick’s “Space Odyssey 2001.” 
> 
> So, I've put in some changes in the story. Originally it was supposed to be finished already… Bear with me for four more chapters. It will be worth it. I promise!
> 
> As for Helena being unstable. Well, yeah. How can you do the things she does while being completely calm and collected? That would have to take a sociopath to pull off, I think. Not discounting that she might be one, mind you! ;)
> 
> Posting next installment don't know when. It's a tough one to create.   
> Gotham awaits...


	16. Most Massive Black Hole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo!
> 
> Sorry for the delay. I got very distracted. Mostly with "Taboo", but also I little bit with Twitter. You can find me there, if you want the latest update on my work (ilovehighhats)! Or if you want to chat, or anything really. :)
> 
> Again, thank you for all comments! Everytime I get a notification my day brightens and I get new kick to go and complete the stuff I'm working on at the moment.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. Only three (or four, depending how much words I dish out) to go!

* * *

* * *

 

They kept her in pharmacological coma for over two weeks. When they told her the date, she commemorated the fact with grim laugh. It made the consul, who came as soon as he could from Yerevan, slightly uneasy. There was even someone from CIA there too. Some military doctor they brought deemed her too frail to provide any substantial, believable information, and ordered rest for at least a week more. The CIA agent interrogated her anyway, as soon as consul disappeared to settle paperwork with Armenian officials.

She was transported back home in the middle of March. The trip on a commercial flight felt more surreal than anything she had done the previous year. Her sister waited at the airport, took her in. Smothered with affection and her guilt over the kidnapping. After all, it was her idea for Helena to go to the cottage, she reasoned.

The scribe only smiled through everything, a small serene twitch of her lips.

As the days went by, her chest hollowed out more and more, the hole she felt forming during her last talk with Bane growing exponentially.

She missed him.

There wasn’t anything physical that connected her to the mercenary. Her clothes were gone. Bruises healed. The letter she wanted to keep disappeared, probably destroyed by Bane himself. She only had her memories.

Crippling indifference. That’s what she felt everyday now. Staying at her sister’s was fine for a month, two, three even, but as soon as possible Helena wanted to find a place away from pitiful looks, prying friends and awkward silences stretching over dinner. Modest apartment all of her own was beyond her financial reach, but she managed to find a nice condo to stay with a medical student. The girl, Anna, was on her fourth year, permanently either studying or passed out from exhaustion. The perfect roommate. Helena cleaned the house and cooked for both of them, satisfied that she had at least something to do.

She avoided visits from family whenever she could, explaining that her schedule at the grocery store was demanding. It wasn’t, as wasn’t the job, but no one but her had to know. She pretended to hate her mundane and repetitive work at a checkout desk, but the truth was she didn't mind. She was numb to it, the incessant beeping, shallow pleasantries, biting remarks. She didn’t care.

The state, after numerous interrogations by its own officials and at the US embassy, provided her with a therapist. To deal with the shock of being released, and with growing depression she experienced. But Helena couldn’t really open up to the nice forty-something woman. Her desk was littered with candles, pictures of children crowded on the windowsill, kept in obviously handmade frames. Straw, clay, paper mache, awkwardly put together with clumsy, inexperienced fingers.

Through her appointments Helena sat, nodded and smiled. Tried not to give any meaningful response to questions therapist asked. Her childhood and adolescence were unimportant, family history not really relevant in her adult life. She was focused on keeping her secrets close.

She missed Bane.

It started as a hollow sensation somewhere in her chest and with every day it sucked motivation and energy out. A black hole. What-if’s plagued her nights when she couldn't escape the yearning that crawled under her skin.

What if she stayed at the compound, and just talked with him?

What if he made her keep the baby, and she’d somehow liked it, spurred on by hormones?

What if she just stayed at the hospital, waited for him and explained?

She couldn't talk with anyone about the mercenary, paranoid some agency would catch that information and use it against him. They told her about things he did. How bad he really was. How dangerous.

She pretended to care.

But the indifference she felt was overwhelming, her heart sunk deep into dark waters and she wanted just to find him and sit in a room together. Like they used to, each busy with their own hobby, occasionally sharing sparse sentence, a look, gentle touch in passing, or just a smile.

Awareness of her situation didn’t seem to vanish, the edges off her mind cutting everyday on sharp reality. She would never see Bane again. How could she? There was no way of contacting him, seeking him out. Unless the man himself reached out.

Helena was quite sure he never would.

She hoped the colours would regain their vibrancy one day. She couldn’t really write or do anything beyond the simplest chores. She missed him so much, and it was only September. She had the rest of her life ahead.

Free, finally.

Alone.

 

* * *

* * *

 

She waited in a barren room, taken out of every cop drama she ever seen. Simple table, two chairs, easily washable beige paint, and on one of the walls also a mirror. There had to be camera somewhere too, even though she couldn’t see one.

Minutes stretched into hours, and still she waited.

Ride to the US embassy was thrilling, the security staggering, the personnel professional. On the surface at least. They confiscated her purse, phone, checked twice if she hadn’t any weapons pinned under her clothes.

Helena smiled tightly. They left her to wait with a set purpose in mind. She knew.

After nearly three and a half hours of waiting the door finally opened. In came one friendly looking agent, a cliché in badly fitted suit, apologizing for the wait. He was handsome, brown hair curling slightly, an eagerness in his moves and honest expression of his eyes making him seem typically American.

Was there even such a thing?

Dismissing his words with a wave of her palm Helena observed as he arranged stacks of files on the desk. It took him a while, but he managed to find his legs and eventually settled comfortably in his chair opposite her.

“Well then,” he said with a wry smile. “How does it feel to be free once again?”

She looked pointedly around. “You'd be surprised how familiar is all… this. I can hardly tell the difference.”

He met her steady gaze with an involuntary narrowing of his eyes.

In a second he was back in character.

“Right, the agent that saw you at the hospital drafted a statement, but since he was too eager he didn't wait for your medications to wear off. Hence this unpleasantness today. I apologize, but for the sake of bureaucracy, I will have to ask you to revisit past years events yet again.”

The dedication was admirable. How often does it work, Helena wondered idly.

She caught herself in the middle of a curt nod, a gesture she picked up from Bane, and altered it keeping her head gracefully dipped, then tilted slightly while looking up.

“How would you like to commence?” she asked. It came out a bit coy.

She wasn't really sure why she pretended, but there was crawling under her skin reminding her to keep alert. Stay on her toes.

Why, though?

“Your first statement is understandably rather ambiguous, so I'd like you to be as specific and detailed as possible.  Every small observation might be important, so please don't omit a thing, no matter how unimportant it may seem.”

The agent took out slim folder from the stack and prepared his pencil.

“Day one. How were you abducted?”

“I was going back home from the cottage my sister owns. There was a blockage on the road ahead. I saw guns from afar so I backed up, but they noticed and followed me. After brief chase I had to stop and then Bane himself ordered to take me away.”

“Why?”

Simple question. One syllable of an inquisition that could turn to a conviction.

“I had a manuscript that picked up his interest. “

“Did you talk to him then?”

“Yes, he was communicating with his men in a language I did not know, then he asked me something when he saw the book. He asked if I knew English when I didn't respond right away, then he asked how I got the manuscript.“

“How did you acquire it?”

“I've made it myself. I told him as much.”

“Then what? “

“I was put into a car, then I blacked out.”

Looking straight at her he scribbled something constantly.

“When did you come to consciousness again?”

“I was bound in a cargo plane, not sure how much time passed.”

“How were you bound?”

“Rope secured me to the floor, but with ample leeway, cable tie on legs, duct tape on hands.”

“No gag?”

“Correct. “

“Hmm,” he stared at her pensively.

Helena stared back. Her own theory was that since Bane wanted to make use of her hands they bound her in a way that would ensure proper circulation with maximum security. Cable ties seemed the usual replacement for handcuffs, but it wasn’t the only one available option in a pinch.

“How did you know you were inside a plane and not, say, a train or a truck?”

“The noise was different from a truck, and it lacked the rhythm that tracks create. Plus, Bane appeared shortly after I woke, and told me to prepare for landing.”

“What happened after you landed?”

“Before the plane stopped he hauled me into one of SUVs that were secured in the hold, and I spent delightful few hours with my head pressed to the seat.”

“Who was in the car with you?”

“Bane sat beside me, there was also someone by the driver, but I couldn't look up to see.”

“Okay. You're doing beautifully. Not many people are as concise and specific as you.”

She blistered at the praise, but tried not to show anything but pleasantness on her face.

“How long was the journey?”

Helena shook her head, shifting in her seat. “Can't tell. Felt like hours.”

“Was it day or night?”

“Day still, but darkening.”

“And what time it was when you were taken?”

“Past noon, around one o’clock perhaps.”

“Did you have anything around you that may help you remember what the exact time was? Radio or a cell phone?”

“No, the area has very patchy reception, I drove in silence. The clock on the dashboard is dim, so I didn't pay attention to what it showed. Phone was in my bag. It was nearing noon when I started the engine, and I didn’t drive too far away from the cottage.”

“Would you be able to show us the place where you were taken?”

“Yes.”

“You're very certain of that,” he observed.

“I am certain about some things. Others that I’m not, I don’t embellish. I thought that would be helpful to you.”

”It is, very much so,” he smiled, scribbling furiously. “So, you're taken on the plane, then out in a car with your head down, so you don't see your destination. What happened next?”

“We arrived at the monastery, the place where I was kept for the past year, and I was transported to a cell slightly below ground.”

“Can you sketch a plan of the place?”

“Of course.” She stiffened slightly, noticed she picked up the lilt Bane always used while saying those exact words. The mocking behind each syllable was palpable. “I’d be happy to,” she tried to soften the previous sentence.

The agent didn’t notice, or concealed it perfectly. Helena busied herself with pen and paper, quickly sketching a simple map of the compound.

“Now, most of this places are terra incognita, but here are bits that I do know,” she pointed from the leftmost corner up and worked her way along the edge of the compound in a circular motion. “The kitchens, small courtyard, pavilion where both my cells were, it's shaped as letter ‘L’ as you can see. Then the main gate, no passage to the other side other than the main courtyard, the pavilion adjacent to the turret, Bane’s turret, and on the other end of the main courtyard the chapel. That’s it.”

“Very good, thank you.” Vivid interest was clear on his face as he turned the page towards himself and inspected it intently. “Would you be able to add details to the information here? Height of buildings, their function, where was storage and stuff like that?”

“Yes, to some degree.” Another involuntary nod that she extended with a forced bow of her head. It looked more pensive, which she supposed was good.

Good for what, she caught herself thinking.

“Okay, let's leave that for later. You’re in the cell underground. How does it look?”

“Four steps long and wide, six steps across.” She smiled. “Stone walls, slightly moist, but not exactly damp. Cold. Barred window looking over the courtyard, a bit higher than my eyes height. One wall made out of bars, along with doors. Like in a proper jail.”

He smirked a bit.

“How long were you there?”

“I spent most of the night pacing. Then Bane came, I think it was nearing dawn.”

“What did he want?”

“He came to introduce himself.”

The agent raised his eyebrows, startled.

“Would you be able to repeat his exact words?”

“”’We haven’t got a chance at proper introduction. I’m Bane.’” Subconsciously she mimicked the way he spoke.

He nodded vigorously. “And how did you respond?”

Why was it so important?

“I’m Helena. I’m a scribe. You?”

“Did he answer the question?”

“Yes, he said he was a mercenary. Then he told me he wanted me to work for him.”

“As…?”

“Didn’t specify. But he hinted at is offer being-” she air quoted, “-a limited time offer.” She shrugged. “So I accepted, without knowing what he wanted from me.”

“What happened next?”

“He went away and I waited. Guard took me to the bathroom, then I waited in the cell. Then when it was still dark, Bane came again and I followed him to the courtyard. He told me to get on a bike behind him, his men put a blindfold under my helmet, and we drove somewhere.”

“Where?”

“We arrived at another monastery, or what appeared to be a proper one.”

“Would you be able to find it?”

“No, I don't think so.”

“Would you be able to recognize it on pictures?”

She shook her head. “Negative.”

“You were very specific a while back, and now you're entering vagueness again.”

“Would you like me to guess the things I don’t know? That would alter my statement.”

“How so?”

“Now I look at everything at a distance. It’s easy to build my own hypothesis around everything that happened. I try not to do that and present you only with facts. Whenever there are facts. If I‘m uncertain it’s because I don’t know some things even now. I may guess, but would that really be helpful to you?”

“It wouldn’t, not at this stage.”

At this stage. So there will be other stages. Other statements to give, Helena thought grimly.

“I didn’t see anything but part of the interior of the second monastery. If it actually was one...”

“Okay, so you are in what seems to be another monastery. What gave you that impression?”

“Bane drove to a hall of some kind. We were greeted by a man in priest clothes, and no, I don’t think I would recognize him. He looked like the most clichéd Armenian priest you can imagine. Salt and pepper beard, black robe, ornamental chain with crucifix, black cowl. He talked with Bane, and I looked around. The walls had some ornaments, some reliefs and mosaics. In Armenian. That’s when I realized where i was.”

“Do you speak Armenian?”

“No, I don't.”

“I see. What happened next?”

“Another priest, younger one, took Bane and I to the cellars. It was a treasury actually.“ Helena leaned in, rested her chin at the back of her palm looking at the desk. “It wasn’t very big, but there was stuff everywhere. I had a brief look at a beautiful icon and some other sacral stuff, when the priest produced the reason Bane kidnapped me in the first place.”

She stopped for breath. The agent nodded a few times.

“What other sacral stuff?”

He surprised her.

“A pyx made of bronze, no ornaments, and a shattered golden monstrance, if I remember correctly.”

He nodded again.

“Do you know what that is?” she teased.

He flashed her a weak smile, distracted with his writing. “I was an altar boy back in Philly.”

“Ouch,” she feigned.

He looked up, amused. “It wasn't that bad. Father O'Shaughnessy used a lot of lube.”

Helena snorted briefly, trying to guess why he was genuinely friendly all of a sudden.

“Let’s get back to the reason Bane abducted you.” The agent smiled, expectant.

“He wanted me to copy a medieval manuscript.”

“Okay. What was it about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you copy it?”

“I did.”

“Where is it now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where was it the last time you saw it?”

“In Bane’s study.”

He nodded solemnly.

“How can you copy a book, if you don’t know what it is about?”

“Bane didn’t want a facsimile, so I had to be flexible. But the book was in Latin. I don’t know Latin, not more than two dozen words and maybe half as much sentences, but I know letters. It’s my job to know letters. When I see something in writing, I can copy the text even if I don't understand a word. It’s as simple as that.”

“What did you understand of it?”

“There were some mentions of Sun and Moon and mathematical diagrams inside.”

“That’s all you can tell me about it?”

“Well, yes,” she shrugged. “Even if I know some words, Latin has pretty complicated grammar, plus since the contents looked like utter gibberish, I would assume the subject was pretty hermetic and scientific.” She narrowed her eyes. “But that's only my assumption. It might as well be a treatise on cultivating parsley while dancing under Full Moon and the best length of skirt for it, or something.”

“Did Bane understand it?”

“I think so. He told me he reads Latin.”

“Did he ever tell you about the book you were copying?”

“No.”

“Did you ever ask?”

Helena took slightly deeper breath to steady her nerves. She suspected where this conversation was going. About time now. “I did.”

“When did you have the chance to ask him?”

Bingo, she thought.

“Bane supervised my work.”

“I see. Let's back up to the second monastery. Priest shows you the book. What does Bane do?”

“He just stood there. Told me he wanted me to make a copy, and when I agreed we left.”

“What then?”

“I was blindfolded, again, and driven back to the compound, again behind Bane. He left me with the manuscript in my cell.”

She knew she misstepped when he slightly inclined his head on her mentioning “her” cell.

Note to self - don’t ever call the other cell ‘my room’.

“Then I tried to sleep. Bane came the next day and told me to make a list of supplies for the manuscript.”

She remembered how tired she was that time, and the following week. The drudgery of waiting for her tools to arrive, never knowing when exactly would it be, how long they would  keep her surrounded by cold stone. This interrogation was nothing. She was relatively comfortable, hours away from hunger, thirst or any other base needs that would scream to be fulfilled.

“What happened to you after that?”

“After that I waited for my supplies. Days were pretty similar to one another. I got sick at one point, but they called a medic who gave me a horse dose of antibiotics and I was fine the next day. When the supplies came finally, they took me to another cell, on the first floor, and I started working immediately.”

“Tell me about your days before you started working.”

“I woke up at dawn usually, because some Muslim mercenaries were praying nearby. My guard took me to bathroom, then I got breakfast. Everyday a book from Bane was waiting by my bed, so I had something to do.” She smiled fondly. “Then I read until lunch, and after that read again until evening came. I ate my dinner and went to sleep. Rinse, repeat.”

“Why did Bane gave you books?”

“I’m not sure. I only knew they were from him much later.”

Her jaw tightened with the memory.

“Then you were transported to the new cell here, right?” he asked, tapping his finger on the plan she made.

“Yes. I started working, but Bane restricted my access to sharp tools, so the first weeks were pretty funny.”

“How so?”

“The book was written on vellum, yeah?” She rested her elbows on the table, gesturing confidently with a smirk. “Vellum is animal skin. You get it in pieces that are shaped, well, like an animal skin. You’ve got to cut it yourself to the size you’re interested in. Since I had no knives, I could only sketch the outline of pages as they would have to be cut, then when I was finished with one side I had to find a way to fill the other in accordance with what was already done. It wasn’t easy.”

“Did you ask Bane about your tools?”

“I let him know I was aware why he took them, and observed how they were necessary to complete my assignment. But I didn’t outwardly ask to get them, no.”

“Why not?”

She really thought about it, slouching back in her chair. “I think I was sure that he took them for a reason. And I didn’t want to argue.”

“Did you want to use them as weapons, at any point?”

“Actually, it never occurred to me.” She looked genuinely bewildered.

The agent’s jaw tightened forcefully.

“How did your days look when you were in the second cell?”

“I got up at the same time as before, because both cells had windows on the same wall. Bathroom, breakfast. I worked until lunch. Then with breaks until dinner.”

“How did Bane supervise your work?”

“He came and went into my cell whenever he liked.” She was proud her voice didn’t hitch in the middle of the sentence.

“What did he do when he came to supervise?”

“Most of the time he just stood by my desk, or behind my back and watched as I was working.”

“Did he engage you in conversations?

“Yes, sometimes he did.”

“Did you engage him too?”

“Yes, I did.”

“What did you talk about?”

“About the manuscript, technical details like which hand to use, what colours were  acceptable, what design, ornaments. Sometimes we talked about philosophy and ethics. And morality.”

The agent noted, nodding, encouraging her silently to proceed.

Helena didn’t speak. She didn’t really want to tell about hours they spent together in amiable silence. About conversations she missed still. About the tentative gestures they both shared, hinting at their interest at first, betraying their feelings after.

Maybe Bane faked all that?

“Well?”

Helena flinched, focusing back on the agent.

“Then he gave me knives. About two months after I started work, so that would be the beginning of June. And then I tried to escape for the first time.”

“What spurred you to do it?”

“I saw other hostages being led away.”

“You never mentioned other hostages before.”

Shit. She totally forgot about them.

“They were the reason there road was blocked on the day I was kidnapped. I saw mercenaries with guns pointed at a car, and later when we arrived at the compound I saw the hostages being led from the other SUV to the cell as well.”

“Who were the hostages?”

“A woman and a child. Boy, age maybe seven? I’m not sure. They spoke in a language that sounded Slavic. Maybe Ukrainian. Not Russian.”

“Do you speak Russian?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Did you speak with the other hostages?”

“No, I didn’t try to communicate with them. They were pretty noisy in their cell, so that’s how I heard the language they were using.”

“Did Bane speak with them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you fraternize with your guards?”

“No,” she lied. “I think they were forbidden to speak to me.”

“How did you escape?”

“My guard left his post to smoke with his colleagues. I sneaked out and I went outside towards the small courtyard. There was a small truck, and I hopped on the back. He drove away and I hopped off when it got dark, when he slowed down before a small bridge. I spent the night in the woods, on a tree. It was raining. Then I stayed up through the day, thinking I’m so smart.” The bitterness of failure reasoned in her still. “Bane was away when I escaped, but his return coincided with my sad attempt and he actually picked me up on his way to the compound.”

“How did he know where you’d be?”

“Damned if I know. The forest wasn't very wide where I was hiding, so I heard every vehicle going to and from the compound. It wasn't very far and I knew it was the only way in. And he just came, stopped nearby and strolled over to my tree.”

“What happened then?”

“He told me to get down on my own.” Helena bit her lip, remembering the way she felt when his heavy steps crushed the forest floor, thunking loudly even through the swoosh of the rain.

“And did you?”

She shook her head, looking down. “I was too afraid. It was pretty high up, that's why I was reluctant to get on the ground in the first place. And I fooled myself he was bluffing,” she laughed mirthlessly. “He never does.”

“What happened then?” he asked softly, coercively.

“He told one of his men to get me down and put me in his SUV. He then waited in the car. When I was inside he gave the signal to drive again, and we went back to the compound.”

“Did you spoke on the way there?”

“Yes, he asked me if I liked my expedition. ‘Was your little expedition enjoyable?’ That's what he said.” she mimicked the way he spoke again, the lilt and timber of his voice, with a little shimmy of her head. Mocking. They were always mocking each other.

Her eyes watered, and she blinked the tears away, angry. What wouldn’t she give now to hear him again, even like this.

“Then he said he hoped the memory was worth it and he broke my leg.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Looking back up at the agent Helena smirked.

“He put his right palm on my left tibia, pressed, and the bone broke.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Yeah, tell that to my leg.” She snorted inelegantly.

He composed himself quickly. “What happened then?”

‘You’re my property,’ Bane said. She remembered looking into his stormy eyes, hurt as if he was the one who was wounded then.

“I blacked out from the pain. I came to back on the compound. They put me back in the underground cell. Put my leg in the cast. I was left there without anything to do for a week, then Bane visited.”

“What did he say?” the agent asked, arching his brow slightly at her choice of words. Helena didn’t pay any attention to him, lost in her memories.

“Nothing of consequence. I asked him if he ever felt what he was doing was pointless. Of course, he said that his objectives are eternal, or some shit like that.” She scoffed. “Pompous ass. He left me in that cell for a week more and I was back to work, as if nothing happened.”

“Did Bane supervise you still?”

“He left me alone for a while, two weeks or so?” She wondered briefly. “Then he just waltzed in and asked what I thought was necessary for a virtuous life.” Shaking her head, she tried to keep back a chuckle. He was out of her life and still her emotions changed like in a kaleidoscope whenever she thought of him.

“Did he exact any more consequences regarding your escape?”

“No, to the contrary. When he started visiting again he was actually quite charming.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“He granted all of my requests. Now I regret I was so timid with them. Cushioned stool for my leg, cigarettes, some booze.” A bath she remembered very well, along with a little repeat performance later in November. “He even agreed to daily walks, so I had to wobble around leaning on walls. I thought he was going to change his mind if I skipped even one day. My cast was taken off in the middle of July.”

“Pretty fast.”

“Yeah, back in Armenia the doctor in the hospital marvelled over it for half an hour. In his native tongue, so I had only his enthusiasm to keep me entertained.”

“Who took off the cast? Bane?”

“No, the same medic who put it on and gave me antibiotics before.” Barsad, with scruffy beard, the kindest eyes, and frightening expertise with a rifle.

“Do you know his name?”

“No, we never talked.”

“How did you know he wanted to take off your cast?”

“He came in with something that looked like a power tool. Either he was about to take my cast off, or the whole leg. I’m an optimist. I hoped for the former.”

The agent snickered outright and asked the next question.

“Why did you try to escape again so soon after the first attempt?”

“I was afraid I was getting too comfortable,” she confessed.

He measured her silently, obviously not expecting this level of honesty.

“Where did you go?”

“I sneaked out on the battlements. I don’t know why I kept choosing high places. Maybe because of that stupid basement cell. I wanted to climb along the outer rim of the compound to a spot behind building with kitchens, and hide between the rocks. Maybe go over the mountain. I don’t know what was I thinking.”

“How were you captured?”

She chuckled. “I was contemplating falling down the wall because I was stuck when I heard the thumping. You know, just like back in the forest. Guess who?” she dramatically waved open palms in the air. “Bane looks like he weighs a ton, but you wouldn’t believe how terrifying it is to sense this bull of a man coming at you.“ Her mind flashed her the memory of Bane enraged, charging at her, mad with anger. “Even when he walks in measured steps, when he comes for you, you know. Slow and purposeful, and seemingly unstoppable. He can be fast too, but it’s easier to intimidate when you have time for fear to truly develop.” She swallowed. “In the end I was so scared I couldn't keep my mouth shut. I slipped a bit, and whined, and he just grabbed me and picked over the ledge. Just like that.”

“What were the consequences this time?”

“There were none.” She pursed her lips. “He put me in the basement again, for three weeks. And then we went back to working as if nothing happened.”

Lies, all lies. She remembered exactly what he said that night when she escaped, when she foolishly asked what he was going to break this time.

He delivered on his promise, she had enough fortitude to recognize that.

Again, she missed the piercing stare of the agent, lost in her thoughts.

“Did you have any visits from him then?”

“No, he came only when he decided it was time for me to work again. We went back up to the cell with my workplace and old schedule was resumed.”

“When was that again?”

“September.”

Sharp pang pierced her chest. A year passed already.

“Tell me what happened then?”

“I worked through Autumn, and finished the book by middle of December.”

Not a word on what happened once in October. Throughout November. She would never tell them anything about it.

“Nothing happened during those three months?”

“No, not really. The monotony was killing me,” she managed a weak smile.

“How did you notify Bane your work was done?”

The trap was laid plain to see. Helena didn’t even flinch.

“I wanted to tell him when he would come by, but he invited me to his suite. I took it with me, and it was the last time I saw it.

Boom, eat that.

“Have you been there before?”

Hundreds of times since October.

“No,” she lied.

“Did Bane invite you to his suite ever again?”

“No, there was no need.”

“Why did he do that then?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he was monitoring my progress, and guards reported I was done, and he wanted the book?” Shamelessly she mused out loud.  

The agent gritted his teeth, but there really wasn’t anything he could tell her without breaking character.

“What did you do after you finished the manuscript?”

“Bane told me to stay put and wait for my next assignment.” Learn Latin, keep him company, enjoy his body. “So I waited until I couldn’t anymore.”

“Your medical file said you were poisoned.”

“I poisoned myself to get out of the compound while Bane was out with most of his men.”

“How did you escape from the hospital?”

“I overpowered one of my guards and stole the car keys from him.”

“How did you know he had them?”

“I observed guards for two days with the sole purpose of finding means to run away.”

“Who was father of your child?”

She didn’t even flinch.

“I don’t know.”

The agent did stutter then.

“Excuse me?” He looked over one of files before him. “I apologize for being blunt but it’s necessary to be precise. Were you raped?”

Helena closed her eyes.

Truth and lies were just constructs. Facts were objective, the only constant keeping her sanity in check.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Then who…?”

“Look. I may seem stable now, but I wasn’t back then, okay? I was a nervous wreck. Didn’t know when and even if I would escape custody of an egomaniac. I won’t tell you the name, because I don’t know it. I won’t tell you anything at all, because that was a part of me that is first human, and only after that, civilized.”

“Was it a guard?”

A scoff and shaking of her head was all Helena deemed fit to show as a response.

“Was it Bane?”

The desk was dull and old, but one might think it was an intricate piece of art, if judged by intensity she poured into staring at its plane. Not one muscle twitched out of turn, breath stayed level and deep.

“Was it Bane?” the agent repeated, more insistent now that she refused to cooperate.

When she finally raised her eyes the defiance that glistened through was overwhelming.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Days stretched both too long and too fast, like a movie one saw and remembered, but still it lasted for hours. League of Shadows was regrouping swiftly, the men trained well in obedience never hesitated in taking orders from new leaders.

The demon head was outwardly as calm and collected as ever. Thick walls of Turkmenistani headquarters were soaking up her screams of rage at night.

Bane knew it was Talia's own way of honouring her father, while still working over myriad issues she had with the dead man.

Sometimes her voice was rising high enough to be heard faintly if he inclined his head just right. As if she was arguing.

Grief manifested in many ways.

Bane mourned the family he could not have. Again.

Sadness tasted like foreign spice now. Long gone were the days when he lived in constant readiness, like a taut bowstring, always ready to recoil. He forgot hardships that shaped him, the echoes he remembered not enough to keep him prepared. Grew complacent, soft with prosperity. Got greedy for things he never could have. The time with Helena, precious few months that they were, showed him starkly everything he craved. Peace. Companionship. Stability. Satisfaction. He obtained all that for a fleeting while. But his character, this gnarly dark demon inside, kept him from giving in. From letting go of control he thought he had, but in reality lost a long time ago.

He fantasized about an ordinary life still. Seeds sown during talks with his scribe took roots shyly at first, in time growing deeper and stronger. What would it be like to close the book on killing and mercenary work? The power was as fickle as fortune, always breeding new enemies within and without. He did not want power anymore. He did not want money. Not even books held the same regard he once had for their silent companionship.

He yearned for freedom he did not have ever in his life. Ability to choose his path. Not what he did while there, but the possibility to pave his way in the direction he himself deemed fit. Always it eluded him, always most crucial crossroads of his life lied before someone else to decide on.

His father sentenced him to be raised in the Pit. His devotion to Talia, and her escape sentenced him to life in constant pain. Ra’s al Ghul sentenced him twice - first making him prove himself as the League member, then making him show all of them he could fend for himself in their element better than they ever suspected. He thrived without assistance of more experienced fighters, finding his own way, surprising everyone with his unorthodox approach. So he made a name for himself, a collection of terrifying aliases, and they sentenced him to act out accordingly with his reputation.

Then, Helena sentenced them both to solitude.

As long as Talia lived he wouldn’t try to affect his scribe again, because he never would be able to just leave his old life. His little girl needed him. So once again, he dedicated his life to her, a vocation only temporarily changed as it turned out when he was excommunicated from the League of Shadows.

He was fully aware Talia would leave him in the Pit again, if her own life would be at stake. The only family he thought he had dissolved quietly, without him noticing how and when. He was the only one left not pretending. That knowledge was his punishment.

 

* * *

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, poke me on Twitter, rant, complain!
> 
> Chapter seventeen, "Dark Energy", hopefully coming sooner than in three weeks.


	17. Dark Energy

* * *

* * *

 

Talia’s London penthouse was converted hastily into temporary headquarters to the League of Shadows. She insisted on keeping her cover blemishless, which involved many nights spent as a socialite; tonight was no different. She readied herself for an evening gathering of rich and privileged, her boudoir occupied by Bane, Barsad, Talia’s decoy and second in command Nyssa, and also the eldest member of the League, known as the Sensei. They plotted details of their future actions surrounded by fresh flowers, opulent furniture and decadent fabrics.

Bane pawed on a dress Talia was to wear tonight. He tuned out, thinking over the plan again.

It was sheer madness. He would amend it, but he needed time, which conveniently was ample at this point. For now they focused on working out the schematics of everything, adding new elements constantly. He would purge it eventually into clear, concise, efficient shape. Like a knife. Shedding everything that was unnecessary, sharpening the edge to cause maximum damage with minimum effort.

He looked up at Talia sitting by the dressing table, styling her hair. 

“Red scarves,” Bane said suddenly.

Talia looked at him over her shoulder, surprised.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Every revolution needs symbols. It’s an integral part of theatrics we will unleash on Gotham. Our men should wear something to distinguish them in the eyes of Gothamites. Something easy to mimic, so they can pick the look themselves when the time comes.” Something easy to discard, he thought.

“Very good point, my friend.”

Bane bunched the dress in his hands. It had streaks of Prussian blue to accentuate the crimson. He let it slip from his grasp. That one colour he could no longer endure around himself.

Their conversation died out after another half an hour. 

Everyone left, apart from Bane who switched to a chair overlooking floor to ceiling window. The city was beautiful from a vantage point like this, all sparkling lights shimmering on water, centuries old stones beside freshly erected steel and glass constructs. The Eye illuminated lavishly turned its capsules up and down, in an unending Sisyphean effort to hoist up hordes of tourists. None could stay at the top longer than few seconds, another capsule taking their place impatiently. Ad infinitem. Repetitively marvelling over the view, with thousands of similar pictures, millions of the same exclamations of awe.

He wondered if Helena had ever been there.

It would be so easy to find out.

“Thinking about her again?”

His eyes switched to Talia, a guilty twitch of his brow too fast to pretend it wasn’t there. He rolled his neck, stretching muscles with a grunt.

“Yes,” no point lying now.

The glass before them reflected shadow of their silhouettes. Bane felt like Lear, waiting for his daughter to speak. Which one would be his little girl?

“Why did you tell me she’s dead after my father died?”

“She is to me. She has to be.”

“Why?”

“Because I corrupt everything I love.”

Small smile played on her lips as she slithered sideways to his lap.

“Some things are corrupt from their inception, other may only appear so,” Talia whispered.

Cordelia of course, she couldn’t be anyone else. Blunt honesty, independence, intelligence.

Everyone died at the end of that play, Bane remembered.

Would it be pointless to ask about her involvement in Dr Porter's death?

“I wasn’t willing to stay long enough to see for myself.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Sometimes,” he said. A half-truth. Weight of small head on his shoulder was inconsequential, but it lied heavy with her knowledge. No point betraying more than Talia already suspected.

“Barsad said you seemed happy with her.”

“It was stolen time. Besides, she wasn’t happy with me.”

“Perhaps. That was an impressive move she pulled on you.”

Bane glanced to the window. Begrudging respect in Talia’s voice was something he hadn’t  heard in a long while. Nevertheless, the circumstance it involved could have been better.

“She wound you, but it was the wise way out,” she continued.

Noncommittal murmur was the only answer Bane could muster.

“If the world was different I may have grown to like her, in time.”

He closed his eyes before tears could sting and fall.

If the world was different he wouldn’t have to wear a mask. Endure pain. Grow up in a prison, like an animal. Become a monster that he was.

“It is what it is.”

“Quite so, my friend.” she stood up, strolled towards vanity again, patting his shoulder gently as she went.

“She seems to like you, still.”

Never before did Bane feel an uncertainty mixed with anxiousness cording his stomach in a way it did right at this moment. Unfamiliar sensation did nothing to soften his tone.

“How do you know?” He practically barked.

“I'm the Demon Head. It is my business to know.”

“Talia. How do you know that?”

She observed him through the mirror, patting her nose and cheeks with a fluffy white powder puff. Keen intensity of her gaze was born out of confidence, certainty over righteousness of her argument.

“Let me be clear, my friend, I will not let you stay the way you are if you'll question me every step of the way.” 

“Let? You won't let me?” He barely held his anger. How has the table turned on him. “I never asked your permission, nor do I intend to start now,” he threatened, rising to face her fully.

“You agreed on my supervision the instant you took a role of my subordinate,“ she argued, her voice steady.

“Your protector,” Bane corrected.

That resulted in Talia impatiently pacing back to the window.

“Father was the same. You both can't see that it is you who needs protecting. I'm more experienced than you think. I decide for myself what is best, even if it's painful. Like Helena did.“

Bane's head snapped as if slapped. 

“See? You can't even talk about her.“ Her eyes softened slightly, but Bane couldn’t shake the feeling that it was an act. Talia’s tiny palm caressed his jaw.

“I want what's best for you, Bane. I really do.” She searched his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

Trust was a fickle thing, Bane thought. If you have to ask, you know you don’t have it. 

He didn’t have to ask, to know full spectrum of understanding they once shared was impossible now. Not after she hired Dr Isley to alter Venom and kill Dr Porter.

But that was his cross to bear.

“Do I have a choice?”

 

* * *

* * *

 

All over the world gyms were a sanctuary.  Always smelled pretty much the same. Sweat, rubber, metal, oil. Grunts and weights clicking on the floor created ambiance uncommon and unwelcome anywhere else. 

There was no music playing in the background as Bane went through his routine. Twenty minutes four times a day was all it took to maintain his physique. He was set on maintaining rather than building up. There was no need. 

Out of corner of his eye he caught a reflection of himself in the window. Wrinkles around his eyes seemed deeper than he remembered when he stopped exercising and turned to look. Mask hugged his jaw like a parasite.

Almost half a century old.

He closed his eyes. It would be possible for him to live ten, twenty, even thirty years longer.

What for?

Rustle behind the door had him staring at the entrance.

Barsad.

Curt nod, and Bane resumed his routine.

“Talia unearthed Helena's file from CIA,” Barsad said, sitting down with a nonchalant shrug, the only reaction to Banes sharp gaze. 

For few minutes only clicking of metal weights sliding up and down the frame disturbed the silence.

“It's an interesting read, and they added pictures and videos too. Four separate days, up to two sessions each.”

Clenched teeth complained with a weak screech, inaudible from behind the metal grille, as the mercenary moved to the bench.

Of course they would interrogate her more than once, Bane thought. She was a treasure trove of information on him, his way of thinking, his men, the way he operated. 

Birdman’s warning rung in his mind. It was time to find out how much exactly he had lost that dreary day in Armenia.

With a decisive huff he finished set of dumbbell shrugs. Straightening up he reached out, palm upwards, and sure enough a pendrive was placed there by his trusty second-in-command.

No more words needed.

Walk through cold corridors was unhurried. No one bothered him on his way. He had time. Little gizmo in his palm burned with importance, in a way he remembered from his time in the monastery. 

He still had Helena’s letters, tucked away safely, the manuscript vaulted back in Norway. 

Secured laptop turned on swiftly, and without delay Bane plugged the pendrive to USB buffer to check if it was safe. 

Finally, a single folder popped open. Inside was divided into separate folders tagged with dates.

25th February 2008.

Remembering that day took some effort. Bane left the hospital trying not to think over possibility of Helena dying in result of the blow she took. After confirming she was alive, he never asked for any more details. By then he was settled on new compound, drafting plans for Talia.

There was only one document, a hastily scribbled statement describing Helena’s abduction.  Very broad terms. No real information that could harm Bane or his operations. 

Intriguing. 

23rd September 2009.

Video file. Bane glanced over a transcript, eyes widening with keen interest. There was a photocopy of a simple plan of the monastery, in what Bane recognized as Helena's elegant hand. Accurate, although not overly detailed. Not to extend it could be.

Why?

He put on the video. Bleak and with bluish filter, but in good quality. 

There she was. Slimmer. Eyes were a tad darker, cheeks a bit hollow. Face frozen in polite uninterested half smile, waiting. He always wondered how long she could keep it up. Three hours was impressive, even by his standards. Especially since he knew how deeply impatient she really was. Uncompromising, under thin veil of complacency. 

Warm smile tugged at his lips when he listened to her easy banter after the agent finally showed up. Obviously she wasn't taking him seriously. He was well aware. Still, for some reason he barely blinked through her blatant lies.

The way she held herself, unfamiliar calmness of her voice especially, told Bane volumes.  The most revealing though were things she omitted altogether from her statement. 

She lied about his men.

She lied about knowing monastery location. 

She lied about their interactions. The number, content, fucking purpose of them all. 

She lied about the manuscript. 

She lied about him.

She lied about the pregnancy. 

Why?

4th December 2009.

Two video files, same amount of transcripts. Also some photocopies and a document with notes from supervising psychologist. 

Bane glanced over transcripts, sure he'd want to watch the interrogations anyway. 

They played out much the same as the first one. Long periods of waiting, then equally lengthy conversations. Less friendly with time. Way less friendly. Helena was still witty and concise, but the tension showed in stiffness of her shoulders, proud tilt of her head when she narrowed eyes to look at interlocutor down her nose. 

They kept coming back to the pregnancy. Kept asking about him.

She kept lying the same lies she told them the first time.

Pride swelled in Bane's chest when he saw her calm defiance, her certainty towards interrogators. The spark he witnessed, the same one that made her seek freedom was now grounding her towards an onslaught many of his new soldiers would break against.

Last document in the file was a psychological evaluation. Bane glanced over, unimpressed with predictable content. They knew she hid information, but couldn't extract it without more violent coercion. Wouldn't do this because the gain was too small. So the psychologist had to grasp straws, building false image of Helena with his undoubtedly creative ideas. Not enough facts to support even half of claims Bane found in the file. Suspicions, musings and wishes. No proofs.

He smiled.

30th January 2010. Last file. Current year.

No transcript to the sole video that was there, but plethora of photos.  He glanced over them, before opening a document entitled ‘final notes.’

They were all doodles. Apparently someone finally figured out that even if she was silent, a scribe couldn't resist blank sheet of paper. How long did she wait before filling pages with neat rows of letters, extravagant asymmetrical patterns of poems, wild bundles of words and sentences in different hands?

One corner of a page written over almost to the point of unintelligibility caught his eye. 

‘Wait for me.’ 

An almost exact copy of one sentence epistle he gave her an eternity ago.

He still had that letter, stashed with the one Helena wrote, safely hidden in one of his books. Producing it took him less than ten seconds. It was substantially more worn out than when he took it from her bedside table back at Armenian hospital after surgery, when the threat of internal bleeding loomed over Helena’s head. Their subsequent exchange was all the more bitter for the knowledge that letter was the only thing she deemed important enough to take with her. Even as she run away, she wanted a piece of him near, tucked beneath her clothes, close to her skin. 

As always, words and actions painted a complicated, complex picture of her mind. Unsettled. He wanted her to be level and calm, just the way she tried to present herself, always. 

Something still didn't sit right with him. 

Doodles were nothing to the agents probably, but to him they sang myriad tales. Produced as many questions. Was she depressed still? Did she have someone to confide in? Did she keep her thoughts bottled up, processing them alone, until everything that happened proved too much again? Did she have enough resources to function comfortably? 

The crawling under his skin egged him on to take action. To do something.  Anything. 

But how could he?

Focusing back on the file, he forgo the open document in favour of video file. 

Four hours of Helena sitting and writing. That was it.

Bane moved to the last document. 

‘Final notes.’

Study of the file left him excited. She never betrayed anything substantial. Without any training she foiled agency attempts at getting to him and his operations. Granted, agents who interrogated her were obviously young and somewhat inexperienced, hot-heads trying to find a purchase helping them dig their way out of position in a country of lesser importance. Still. They could prove troublesome, especially with plans he weaved now, on behalf of Talia and League of Shadows. Against all odds, against logic and against common sense, she endured. Protected him, risking herself, against an attack that would be easy for him to deflect. She must have known.

What compelled her to behave this way?

Absentmindedly, Bane's fingers brushed over worn paper, caressing the letter, left lying still on his desk.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Spring was just around the corner. First flowers peeked shyly their dainty heads from beneath melting caps of snow. Cats cried songs of loneliness, birds chirped incessantly excited with longer days and earlier mornings.

For Helena this time of year was the most gruelling one. Just like there was a speaker behind her ear, playing low, whirring note on a cello. Melting strings narrated her sour mods, echoed emptiness in her chest.  When nature woke to life, she dreamed of burying herself in a cocoon to sleep away February and March.

There were commissions, bigger and smaller ones, to keep her mind occupied. Some invitations for galas, early weddings, late  movie premieres, diplomas for winters educational contests.  The usual work for this time of year.

Over last months Helena read dozens of books on depression, PTSD and dealing with grief, to know how to name everything she experienced. Knowing her response to losing pregnancy was not uncommon, if unheard of, reassured her. She analyzed her behaviour, looking for signs of problems she could handle dealing with herself. Visits with psychologist ceased just before interrogations with CIA started. They were only deepening her anxiety anyway.

The reason why she was still grieving eluded her. Or rather, she didn't want to admit it out loud. 

Missing Bane right after the time they spent together was understandable. It had been three years now. There were no nightmares of her imprisonment. No sadness stemming from terminating her pregnancy. But the sinking, hollow feeling in her chest that settled comfortably around her heart never left.

She looked at budding leaves musing over persistence of nature. The trees were grey with city dust, suffocated by exhaust fumes, bruised and cut by playing children.  And yet, new leaves emerged year after year. Stubbornly introducing brightness and freshness even though the soil was sour and bland.

Yes, the cycle required shedding old leaves before new could grow. 

Helena shed everything long ago, her lethargy lasted long enough.

High time to rebuild her life in full. To enjoy it.

Even as the resolution crystallized in her mind, the small voice in that the back of her head whispered discord.

You'd have been happier with Bane, even if he’d held you locked away.

She sighed, refusing to acknowledge the thought. 

An independent modern woman shouldn't need a man to be complete.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Trills of violins accompanied him as he sat slowly behind massive wooden desk. Overture to the “Magic Flute” carried elegance bred by harmony, the same traits he wanted to invoke in his plan. Simple, effective, gripping. Engaging. 

Ties to engage Wayne were already made. Needed some time to take roots, but they were getting there. Talia courted Lucius Fox of Wayne Enterprises, seduced him with funding for their pet research - The Clean Energy Project. 

His own contacts in West Africa proved useful in obtaining ear of another prominent Gothamite, John Daggett.

How to bite Wayne so that he would feel it?

It was imperative for Wayne to come down in memory of his city as a philanthropist. The one who, cultivating his parents’ legacy, would better the world for ordinary men. It seemed like he succeeded as Batman, but only partly, so now all his resources were transferred to sole purpose of bettering Gotham.

Foolish.

Clean, affordable energy for all. Utopia. Bane predicted Wayne would like to make it free for the poorest. As if that would ever help for injustice that was pestering Gotham.

In the end, he had three goals. Three things to break.

Wayne's body would be the easiest.  Talia would soon charm her way to his household, courtesy of bewitched Mr. Pennyworth. An easy target. Sentimental. Then, it would be only a matter of time before she would meet and enslave Wayne himself. 

Luring him to a place where he would fight Bane was no obstacle at all. They could fake kidnap Talia. They could threaten his friends. So many possibilities.

Soul would be taken care of twofold. Talia observed Wayne keenly during conundrum with Joker, and the pressure point to break Batman's heart was easily discernable. Rachel Dawes. Righteous, beautiful, childhood friend and maybe also a lover.  Dead, by means of a cruel joke. How very fitting.

Condensing her persona to a mask she could weave onto Miranda Tate's face was Talia's idea. A mask over a mask, on top of yet another, and then another underneath. Sometimes Bane wondered whether she ever lost herself in her own deceptions? Maybe that was the reason for the rift that was between his precious little girl and himself?

Third thing to break was the one Bane knew himself the pain of. In the back of his mind he dreaded that one. Hope. Rid a man of his loved ones and he will find someone new. Take away his resources, and soon they would be forged and gathered anew. 

Steal his hope, and even the most opulent residence would become a prison.

Now, to reconcile the three.

If it would be possible to convert reactor to a bomb, it would take care of two things at once. But weaponizing civilian technology wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Especially, since Wayne's project used such innovative solutions, some of them were made up as they went along. Invented and perfected specifically according to needs of this project. 

On the other hand, that would be the perfect angle to tackle the subject.

Blowing up Gotham with Wayne’s own creation, defying its purpose. Perfect. Ironic, both towards the billionaire and his countrymen. An effort towards bettering lives ending them and poisoning the city instead.

From the ruins only the strongest would rise, only the best would remain.

Slow smile crept on Bane’s face at the thought.

Bullshit.

If it blows up, even more chaos and destruction would follow. Before dust would settle for good on remnants and rumble, the hyenas of society would be there to pick skeleton of the city to the bone. Looting, pillaging, crime and violence even Gotham's Dark Knight could not prevent. Wayne would know, and would do anything to prevent Gotham from falling. 

There would have to be someone keeping an eye out on Wayne, ensuring he would witness crumbling of his beloved city.

The plan crystallized slowly. Talia would be the bait to lure Batman out of his hiding. Then after his body breaks, he would be held prisoner in a place without escape. Watching Gotham on his knees, descending into madness. Then, it would be purged, leaving Wayne helpless. Relieving the moment day, after day, after day.

Cruel, but simple. Effective.

Details of course had to be polished. Studying previous attacks on the city showed how necessary it was to detain the police. How important to play on people's fears and doubts. How ineffective to be the sole symbol for Gotham's reckoning.

Music ended some time before Bane finished his last thought.

With a grunt he stood up, leaning heavily on hardwood plane of the desk. Familiar smoothness was reassuring. He stayed there, surface gradually warming under his skin. Unwelcome ideas resurfaced like they always did, school of eels pooling restlessly under surface of water, ready to pounce.

Somehow, he never had Helena on a table. What a waste.

Slowly, he strolled towards the bedroom. Taking off his gear was automatic, calming in its ordinary repetitiveness. The same as memories he indulged in, in the comfort of his suite. He could order warm and willing woman to help him relieve the stress. He did before. But it never really helped. He couldn’t stop comparing. The sex itself was predictably pleasant, but his head was always back in the monastery. Eventually, he stopped pretending.

Not long now, and it would all turn to ashes anyway.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Kettle whistled piercingly and then wheezed sadly as Helena turned off the heat. Coffee rose in a French press, foaming vigorously as she poured over some water. She set a timer for one minute. Her laptop beeped with a notification of new email, so she turned it over on the counter towards herself.

Smiled.

The message was from her favourite client. A photo of Full Moon framed with what looked like drooping branches of wisteria. The title was simple ‘Happy New Year!’

She smiled again and looked at the clock. It was only quarter past eight.

The timer went off with an unpleasant whirr and buzz. Helena poured the rest of the water over coffee and set the timer again, four minutes this time, put the lid with a press on the glass container. 

She hit the reply button, writing her message with a smirk.

‘Good thing I’m not superstitious, it’s nearly four more hours until 2011 for me.’

She waited for his response contemplating the picture he sent. She was sure he took it himself. Hunching slightly she narrowed her eyes. No way the thing in the pic was a plant, it was too bright. She raised her eyebrows realizing it was in fact perfectly timed photo of fireworks exploding. 

The client was an astrophysicist and he was one of the first and definitely the most loyal customer of hers since she went back to calligraphy. A waste of talent this calibre, her old friend said, would be disastrous. So she got her site back up and almost immediately picked up new requests. Small ones at first, invitations, diplomas, but then a guy from Max Planck research facility in Germany contacted her. Which led her to regularly copy stuff for a bunch of scientists, all it seemed, dedicated to both old and new.

She loved it.

Also they paid surprisingly well, which gave her ample funds to rent her own roomy place.

New email icon appeared on her screen with a familiar beep.

‘I was eager to share, that took a few tries to accomplish. Working on New Year’s Eve?’

‘Always working if there is a job to complete. Besides, it’s just another day. But with fireworks. :D’  

‘Shall I send you an address to ship the manuscript to? I will be here for a week.’

‘I’ll tell you when it’s done, shipping should take only a day. Unless you’ll be on Mongolian steps or Chilean deserts.’

‘I might be. Don’t spill champagne while you work!’

The buzzer started again, and Helena straightened to pour herself a cup of coffee. As she diluted it slightly with water another email came through.

‘Better still, don’t work at all tonight. Celebrate.’

Moving to sit on the other side of the counter she pondered on her response. 

‘I was going to watch fireworks over the city and go to sleep. Midnight is usually the time I go to bed anyway. BTW, drinking coffee to stay awake, can you imagine?’

‘Isn’t there anyone helping you stay up tonight?’

She paused the cup midair. Did she really want to flirt with her customer? She sighed. Last time she did, it didn’t end pretty. But this wasn’t Bane. No one held her prisoner against her will. This guy was constantly away on some expeditions around the world. She didn’t even know what he looked like. Or whether he had a family. Then again, since he wasn’t keeping her hostage, she could always ignore him. Plus, his friends from the community were all so nice, she couldn’t imagine him to be a douche.

Another email.

‘Apologies, I overstepped. Goodnight.’

Pang of disappointment, more bitter than her drink helped her make up her mind.

‘It’s fine. I was just thinking we have an old fashioned penpalling down to the boot. If you overlook the fact the messages are digital. ;) And I never go to New Year parties; too loud, too crowded and way too bothersome. What are you doing for the rest of the night?’

‘I can write on paper, but that would complicate our usual negotiations quite a bit. Have some telescopes and cameras planted, so I will stay up until sunrise in case anything goes wrong. Keep me company?’

She glanced at the clock again. At best she could stay up until two. Maybe some chatting was just what she needed?

‘Okay then, I’ll leave your book untouched until 2011. :D Fascinating subject by the way, I never knew there was something like archeoastronomy.’

‘Not my main interest, but it is indeed rather interesting. Did you understand what it was about?’

She scoffed and giggled.

‘Bits and pieces, not enough to really grasp the meat of the subject.’

After sending she opened new message. ‘You thwarted my attempt at trying to look semi-intelligent, I’ll have to rethink your penpal status. What is your main interest, if you don't mind my asking?’

‘I hereby kindly request favourable reconsideration. I’ll tell you mine, but only if you share yours.’

She smiled again, relocating to the sofa. It looked like this would be her first truly fun night in two years. 

  
  


* * *

* * *

 


	18. Not So Big Bang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!
> 
> I finished it all. It's over. It's done. Who can guess when I'll post the last chapter? ;)
> 
> As always, I am really grateful for each and every comment. Keep 'em comin'!
> 
> I hope you will enjoy this part.

* * *

* * *

 

Partying was exhausting for over thirties. Booming music from speakers powerful enough to deliver sound to a stadium bounced between walls of a four hundred square metres club. She knew she would have a headache tomorrow, even though overpriced drinks were mercilessly diluted with abundance of crushed ice. Acrid smell of weed burned her nose, together with chalky aroma of artificial fog rising from the dancefloor.

Helena smiled weakly at some of her sister’s friends grinning at her from other side of the booth. Grabbed her clutch and slid out on a patio for a smoke.

The crowd was just as thick outside as it was in. She scanned her surroundings and decided to perch on a wall shielding patio from the street. Some kids were baffled when she unceremoniously stepped onto a miraculously empty chair, then between drinks on a table, and with an elegant leap she finally slid onto cold stones. Cynical look down daring onlookers to try and do something, and she plucked her cigarette case out, lightening her smoke with flamboyant flair. Let them look. After all everyone came here to be seen, impress and entice. 

The wall was firm and slightly uneven beneath her body, like the battlements back at the monastery. Long drag of tobacco and she could almost feel herself back there. A break after hours of writing. Her fingers coloured with ink, delicately holding precious cigarette to her lips. James waiting somewhere close to take her back to her room. Bane lurking in the shadows.

Her eyes were dry, but she felt like crying. 

How many times had she gazed out over the valley, pretending she was somewhere else? Now the memory was more bitter than sweet. She had her freedom. It tasted like ash, but she could do with her life whatever she wanted.

Maybe she should fuck a stranger.

Ridiculousness of the thought made her smile lazily. Technically, she did that, if only once. Bane. Nothing before really compared. There was a possibility, slim and feeble, that the significance she put over him and time they spent together was a result of feelings she associated with the first guy after her husband to sleep with her since her marriage ended. Would trying things out with new people help dilute that impression? Mend her wounded psyche?

Helena was willing to try.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Bane cursed himself. And Talia, but mostly himself for not swaying her back to reason.

The plan she concocted, her glorious revenge, was still full of holes. He tried to mend them, argued, pleaded even. Even though he tried to mould it into an elegant shape, the ugly core of the mission stayed the same through all of the changes he demanded.

The plan was set in motion. When Talia lures Wayne out of hiding it will start. She would use her charm to enchant him, gathering last missing crucial information and resources. His prints would be used to rid him of his home and company. Then, he would go to meet his destiny under the guise of rescuing Talia from a group of terrorists. Bane would break him. Everything was ready in the Pit to accommodate him. 

They needed confirmation of Wayne’s interest to start working with Daggett, but the slimy bastard was no obstacle at all. His contracting company would be the perfect lid over work they wanted to complete. Just a few months. Then, after Gotham would be rid of Dark Knight, they would strike. Keep the city under siege while Batman would watch and suffer for months, watching his beloved people fight each other over scraps.

Finally, Talia would end them.

Bane had his qualms about parts of the plan. He took precautions in bits that Talia insisted on. There was no way he could convince her to give up the ridiculous siege and just blow entire city up on the first day. She wanted Wayne to suffer, she said. So Bane prepared bunkers, deep enough and strong enough to provide sufficient shelter during direct blast. And a way out.

Gotham falls next year, and they would be there to witness and ensure its bitter end.

But Talia insisted that the city would be totally cut away from any form of communication. At first, he couldn’t understand why even they would be under that constraint. Then he saw the pieces that she threw in his exquisite construction, disrupting its perfect architecture. It was there to ensure they all would die too. 

He spent his days perfecting strategies. Inventing new ways to hold a whole city, and a nation, hostage. Sculpting details over Talia's additions, cancerous ideas spreading over pillars of his creation, undermining his efforts.

Nights were a drudgery of reminiscing and bitter realizations.

His little girl wasn’t his anymore. The Pit shaped her crudely and what little light he tried to protect in her was ruthlessly and systematically purveyed by Ducard. He should have seen that, but her affection blinded him to her ever hardening heart. His little girl wasn’t little anymore, nor a girl, and with accumulating experience came her own brand of darkness, cruelty she cultivated in herself with an eye towards an end. He missed it, through her tales of riches and wonders the world she now scaled freely in the guise of Miranda Tate.

What he couldn’t forget himself the most was the moment when feelings in her eyes turned to ashes. What caused it, he did not know. He was her protector, trusted friend once, but she didn’t confide in him anymore. She never truly opened her heart to him after the Pit. The warmth she displayed was artificial. He realized he was another resource to her. Another ally. As he knew from her boasting, allies were easily replaceable, especially since she became the Demon Head. So he stayed and worked, and never betrayed to her that he knew.

They were the rot that they were trying to eradicate. Gotham was a symbol of vice, violence and lies, but their whole organization was guilty of same crimes. Hidden in the shadows they plotted and schemed, and never succeeded because the very cure they prescribed to the world was advancing sickness they battled.

Talia saw it, because she was breeding the darkness herself.

All warmth in his life seeped away, leaving him barren and wanting.

And he cursed himself.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Long exhale came with a little whine out of Helena’s mouth. She had to notify her favourite client, the astrophysicist, she was going to take a long vacation, and was postponing sending that message until the last possible second. Tickets and hotel were booked for tomorrow. She bit her lip.

The fact that she was going away with a man still slightly amazed her. Even more so everytime she realized it was her official boyfriend. She agreed to try things out long term. It still chafed at the fringes of her mind.

He looked almost like Bane would without mask, obviously, and scars. A little younger, perhaps. Definitely less charismatic. His face was the first thing that caught her attention; literally glued her to the floor with shock. Then it turned out he was a really sweet guy appreciating women who made the first move. And now, three months later, they were going to a resort together.

And she felt like she was somehow betraying Dorrance’s confidence. Which she wasn’t, since they were only pen-pals. She also felt like she was cheating on Bane, which was just ridiculous. Especially since she was trying so hard to imagine her boyfriend was a civilian version of him. Less broken, more boring in a good, ordinary way.

Hopeless.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard with an alarming speed.

‘Dear Dr Dorrance,   
I am taking a little holiday. Will be off from tomorrow until August 31st.

Sincerely,  
Helena Wolf’

There, done.

She looked the message over. It seemed too impersonal. Way too cold. After all, they did spend hours upon hours chatting amiably whenever Dorrance resurfaced on the Net during his voyages. She sighed.

‘Dear Tony, 

I’m off for a holiday, from tomorrow up until August 31st. Any assignment you might have for me will have to wait until then, sorry.   
I have found myself a boyfriend. Feels weird to be back in a relationship.  
Hope your trip Down Under was successful. I wished for it upon a star!

Yours,  
Helena”

Okay, that was better. She pressed send button before she could change her mind and fiddle with the message more. Her brows furrowed as she took another deep breath to settle her nerves. Why was she nervous at all?

A chime announced new email. She didn’t expect him to be online.

‘I’m happy to hear you’re taking some time off. Although, it’s a surprise to hear about your new friend. I have a short dissertation ready for you, so I’ll send it with instructions in the first days of September. Have fun.’

Fantastic, now he was miffed. She couldn’t leave it like this.

‘I didn’t want to bother you with mundane details of my love life. TBH, my last long-term relationship was pretty tumultuous. I’m determined to be more cautious this time. Apologies, if that made you feel left out.’

‘Helena, you’ll never be a bother. Take things slow. Feel free to vent to me, if you need a man's perspective on things.’

That actually sounded like a good idea. She smiled, suddenly relieved. 

A new email came.

‘What exactly do you mean by tumultuous?’

She stroked sides of the laptop thinking how much information she could part with. 

‘We had some major differences over my role in his life. It could have never worked out the way I would like it to.’

Two minutes of silence and she regretted ever sending anything. 

Chime had her instantly pressing on a touchpad.

‘I’m sure he misses what he lost. Do you think about him often?’

Her lips formed a tight smile, the reply came from under her fingertips almost without conscious effort.

‘I’m sure he hates me now. But maybe he misses our discussions, I swear it was the best part of being with him. Who knows? But yeah, I think about him still. He’s one of those people you never forget.’

‘How does your current guy feel about this?’

‘He doesn’t know. I’d hate for him to feel like I am comparing all the time. Which I am, but he doesn’t have to be aware. I think it’s kinder this way.’

‘You know that’s unhealthy. Deciding for someone else over what is kind. You have all the information, he is in the dark.’

‘I do know that. But, would it help if I told him about my ex?’

‘Probably not, if you still feel as strongly as you do. Seeing that I can’t help but wonder, why won’t you try things out again with him? Surely, the differences you mentioned can’t be that deep, if you can’t forget about him.’

‘That’s a conversation for another time, I’m afraid. Rest assured, the relationship ended in mutual agreement.’ A stretch, but basically that’s what their last conversation was - Bane conceding to her point. ‘Anyway, my ex is way too toxic to be with, unless he changes his occupation. Which he won’t ever do. I’m quite sure he doesn’t know how to live his life without it. So, that’s done and over with. I just have to learn to adjust my expectations.’  

The door opened and her heart constricted with a sharp pang of pain. Her boyfriend came in, wide smile on his face. He looked almost like Bane. Almost. Behaved nothing like him, though. Helena never could forget about the difference.

“Let’s go get some lunch,” he said.

“Sure, I’ll just finish an email to my client. Bring me straw hat from the bedroom?”

Her fingers danced over the keys, clicking away like insect legs on tiles.

‘I have to go now, David is taking me out to lunch. Until next time, then!’

She closed the laptop with a finality that echoed with her through the rest of the day. 

It was high time to move on.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Failure with completing last stage of their plan, courtesy of Bruce Wayne's sudden turn towards caution, had Talia screaming in frustration at her father's ghost again.

Bane listened on, judging how many others could witness her losing control. Barsad, maybe, and Nyssa were the nearest. Inner circle. Nothing to worry about, they would stay silent on the matter.

He made himself turn around and walk away. There was a time he believed he could help her work through grief. But it was impossible to reach her through beautiful facade she put up to face the world. She became Miranda Tate, even to him. Her psyche was rotten, consumed with obsession over Wayne. Nothing else mattered. Not the League, nor her safety and future, certainly not Bane.

He had to fight her teeth and claw still for every minor concession on their well-being during attack they planned. All for nothing, it seemed. Wayne cancelled his dear energy program, spooked by research paper published a month prior by one Dr Leonid Pavel. Their plan was, at best, put on hold.

Walk through the thick foliage helped him settle his thoughts. It gave them time to brush up details. To gather even more information. It wasn’t nearly as bad as Talia made it out to be. The reactor, core of their plan, was still there. Hidden, but there. They just needed to locate it. That was all. They needed to scare Wayne into showing them where it was. 

Daggett could be the tool, Bane thought. Conniving slimy pest that he was, perfect to threaten Wayne's legacy… And then valiant Miranda Tate would sweep to rescue it. And then they would have it all. Perfect.

Shrubs ended abruptly, leaving Bane on a pristine white sanded beach. The view was marvellous, water as clear as glass shimmering away in turquoise abyss. Sun was slowly setting, but the air was still vibrating with warmth, humid and fragrant with sweet thickness of leaves rotting away in the dirt.

Hitch in the plan gave him time, and ideas. And hope.

The sand was warm under his feet when he shucked off his boots, and stood up to take off pants. A moment’s hesitation and he took away the mask too. Waded into the water.

The pain bloomed sharply first at the back of his skull, then down at the base of his spine, and soon it was all over. Deep, forced breaths did nothing to hide it. That wasn't the point. He wanted to experience his limitations without hindrance and handicap. Stubbornly, he inched deeper into the lagoon. There was a time when he could function with the pain. The mask, the drug, took that away. What was he without it?

Water lapped warmly at his stomach, trickled in soft rivulets between twitching fingers. With a strangled moan he went to his knees. He couldn’t do it. Agony of shattered cartilage pressing on spinal cord, muscles tensed too tightly to compensate over missing chunks of flesh, broken bones healed crookedly, it was all too much. Mountain of muscle couldn’t hide the fact that he was shattered. He leaned back, letting the sea carry him gently back to the fringe of the beach.

He was old, tired and broken.  

There was enough deadwood on the sand for a small fire. He dressed and sat in the warm glow, darkness falling into deeper notes with each passing second. He remembered nights when he couldn’t afford even this small luxury, forced to curl up over Talia, hoping no one would choose that time to disturb them. Hoping that the chill would be enough to seep away their lives peacefully while they were dreaming of real life. He never could kill her, but the release the death could bring was always at the back of his head. Toiling day after day for scraps, just to get by. What was the point of living the way they were? 

Then he saw the world.

Now, he watched the flames, raised without any effort using objects most people would call garbage. Once it was the most precious of things for him. Fire and books. 

He had a library of his own now. No one to share it with. Not anymore.

He closed his eyes listening to rustle of leaves and myriad noises the insects made around him. Rhythmic swooshing of the sea overriding everything, even snapping of branches slowly converting into chunks of carbon. 

“I remember nights when you put up the fire back in the Pit. I felt we were rich as kings then.”

Talia sat opposite him, hugging knees close to her chest, looking into the flames.

“I was just thinking about it myself.”

She smiled sadly.

“Come here,” Bane beckoned with a hand.

She looked amused but complied, folding herself gracefully in his lap, her back shielded by his immense chest. She let him hug her close.

“Even after all those years, your embrace feels like the safest place in the world.”

“I will protect you with my life, little girl. Always.”

“Even after all I’ve done to you. Even after all that has happened.”

“Always.”

She sighed.

“I don’t think I can appreciate anything, anymore,” she whispered.

He hugged her closer, nuzzling softly side of her head.

“You on the other hand, can. I always envied you the wonder you had for the world.”

“I should have tried harder to explain it to you.”

“I don’t think it can be taught. Either you are curious in your heart, or you’re not.”

“Maybe,” he said wistfully. Arguing over this would be pointless. He desperately tried to find a subject less gloomy, but failed to stumble on anything before Talia spoke again. 

“I feel like I’ve lived for a thousand years.”

“It is a complicated world.”

“Not for me, not anymore. The only thing that seems complicated to me is my heart.”

“We are all the centres of our own galaxies,” Bane said sententiously.

Talia laughed, shortly and dryly.

“I am a black hole all right.”

“Not what I meant.”

“I know.” She patted his forearm. “I envy you so many things, still.”

Bane couldn’t find a retort. He raised his head to watch the sky. Perseids were bound to have their apex soon, brilliant spectacle unfolding over their heads indifferent towards everything happening below. 

“Look up,” he said.

Talia’s hair tickled his throat as she did, resting her head on his clavicle.

“Would you like me to wish upon a star again?” she asked, a drained quality to her voice. 

Bane swallowed his disappointment. She loved doing that as a child. He used every meteor shower to install dreams in her head, to encourage her to think big and bright possibilities for the future.

“I stopped that long time ago,” he lied. “It’s a pretty sight.”

“It is,” she agreed. Gently, she moved away.

Bane let his hands fall to the sand, observing as she added branches to the fire.

“I wish you’d watch it with someone who appreciates it.”

That indeed was exactly what he wanted.

 

* * *

* * *

 

‘So, here we are again, both alone on New Year’s Eve.’

Helena pressed send button with a smile. She knew the reply would be swift. It came right when she finished refreshing her martini.

‘I’m not complaining. Digital celebrating with you is better than sitting with a bunch of strangers drinking themselves to a stupor to forget mistakes of 2013.’

‘Too true. Although I don’t know if I’ll manage to stay awake until midnight. The noise is killing my head tonight.’

‘There’s city life for you. Rowdy, smelly and frantic. It’s good that we are in the same time zone for a change, I won’t keep you up until dawn this time.’

‘I don’t mind if you keep me up all night. Where are you? If I could I would move to hinterlands in a heartbeat.’

‘I’m checking if my last tenant didn’t destroy my house. Well, what keeps you from it?’

She was deliberately suggestive and he beat her at her own game. Damn, he was good. She started on her reply with a grin when another message went through.

‘Tell you what. You can be my new tenant. I’ll send you some pics in a while.’

That was surprising. Half an hour later she nursed fourth drink perched on the sofa, refreshing her emails every minute or so and ravaging a bowl of olives. When the message finally came, a download link since the pictures were too big, she grinned. It was entitled ‘Tell me what you think only after you’ve seen everything.’

It was breathtaking. She looked at a very modern one-story house; all glass, wood and concrete, hidden between the trees. She clicked through pictures of three bedrooms, lofty open lounge, spacious kitchen, luxurious bathrooms.

It was a pity, that would be way too big for her.

But then, she clicked on, determined to see everything he wanted to show, and found another thing altogether. 

A guest house, from similar materials, but much more cozy and approachable. Sloped roof doubled as a viewing deck overlooking the sea. The structure was shielded by trees on one side and blended with surrounding rocks on the other. Inside was carefully sectioned into three parts - loft for sleeping, ground level for rest and working, then underground for cooking and storage. 

Perfect for her.

‘The smaller one is just right for me. And you know it. Where’s the catch?’

‘Whichever house you choose the other will be leased too. Also, it’s in Norway.’

‘I don’t mind going abroad. So you don’t live there?’

‘I travel too much to settle. And I have some more places to stay in.’

‘Okay, then. I’m in.’ What was there to lose?

‘That was fast. I’ll notify my solicitor to contact you.’

‘Shouldn’t we discuss the payment?’

‘What payment?’

She smiled.

‘You’re very generous.’

‘I’m fond of you.’

She didn't know what to say to that, so she chose changing the subject as a safe way out.

‘So, now that I’ll live in a cottage by the sea, I need to find myself a cat to complete the picture.’

‘But you're not a spinster. Not technically.’

That was true. She was a divorcee, but felt more like a widow. After a man she never had a real relationship with, not her husband who was going through marriage number three.

Chiming brought her back to focus on the screen.

‘And you don’t have to stay that way. David wasn’t the only man available to you.’

Was he propositioning her? She smirked. Four years, and still she had no idea how he looked, or even how old he was. But it didn’t matter. Conversations they shared centred her. 

‘I think I’m done with men for now. I could be a nun if I wasn’t an atheist.’

‘I can’t imagine you living in a monastery.’

‘Yeah, well I spent almost a year in one, once, and it was the least savoury period of my life.’

What possessed her to write that? She stared at her words on the screen, sheepish grin plastered on her face. Well, it wasn’t untrue.

‘Monastery, but not a convent? Sounds interesting. Tell me more?’

‘I’d rather not. Don’t have too many good memories from that time.’ A lie she told herself nearly every day.

‘I’m sorry to hear that. Hope you’ll make good memories at the cottage, then. On behalf of all men, it would be a pity if you just locked yourself away.’

‘You hypocrite! Here you are offering me a place to stay away from everyone, and then you complain I'm going there. To think men say women are fickle…’

‘I’ll send you coordinates, see what’s nearby. You can be a shut in, but don't have to.’

‘I prefer my solitude and impersonal internet friendships, thank you very much.’

‘But you sound unbalanced. Don’t you miss physical contact?’

That was uncharacteristically straightforward. She pondered what to write.

‘I remember one conversation I had about balanced life. It was few years back. I raised the same argument you did right now. Maybe I should explore some alternative lifestyle options.’

‘What alternatives are you talking about?’

‘Well, for once, my dildo is about as satisfying as my last boyfriend, so there's that.’

Hand automatically covered her giggling mouth after she sent the response. One martini too much, perhaps.

‘Is that why you broke up with David? Lame in the sack?’

‘Mostly. I have set very high standards to meet. Only the best can come out without a scratch.’ Also, there was that little annoying fact that even though he looked like Bane, his behaviour was dramatically different. It infuriated her, that she couldn't stomach the disparity. That she wanted the opposite of what was supposed to be good for her. 

Absentmindedly she continued her email.

‘He was sweet and cute, but so frustratingly daft… Always stopping to ask, confirm and make sure everything was alright. And the only things we could safely talk about were food, movies and his hobby. Infuriating, in the long run. What about you? Is your life well balanced?’

‘I’m afraid you might call me a hypocrite again. I’m all work and no play.’

‘Sounds dull.’

‘Would you call me a dull boy?’

‘I wouldn’t call you a boy at all. Nor dull. But since you’re offering, how old are you?’

The silence was longer than usual, but she waited patiently. 

‘I will be forty eight on March fifteenth.’

It was her turn to stretch the silence to an uncomfortable length. Everything today reminded her of Bane. But then, wasn’t that the thing nearly every day anyway?

‘Ides of March. That’s easy to remember.’

‘Only if you’re history aficionado.’

‘You got me. How will I ever live down the humiliation of being exposed as a dork?’

‘You can always hide in your cottage by the sea and never show your face to the world again.’

She smiled. Her cottage, he said already. She liked the sound of that.

‘Will you visit?’

‘Can’t promise I’ll be able to. I might have a big project incoming in next months.’

She didn’t let her disappointment show for the rest of the night. Well, it was good the way it was. She was content, and told him as much.

 

* * *

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cottages are both clones of the ones my favourite architects built. The bigger one is called "Knudtzon", the smaller "Knapphullet", the studio is Lund Hagem. Ofc, I took some artistic liberties and changed minor details, but if you google them you'll get an idea how they look.
> 
> One full chapter, and then an epilogue, and we're done!


	19. Sticky Matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo,
> 
> So here we are. Last real, full-blown chapter, and then the epilogue. I watched "La La Land" before finishing the story. Just so you know. ;)  
> Special thanks to ever patient, ever vigilant ThreeDots. You rule!
> 
> Enjoy.

* * *

* * *

 

‘You're avoiding me.’

Helena drummed pads of her fingers on sides of the laptop, impatient gesture something she remembered picking up from Bane. Six years and still she thought about him nearly every day. Even while she tried to reestablish a connection with another man.

Tony was silent for three months, then gave her a small commission and responded to her usual friendly banter with monosyllabic pleasantries. She let it slide one time, but the pattern emerged again. She wouldn't have it. Dorrance was more than just her client; she wouldn't let him refrain from friendship without a fight. 

She waited, grumpy and annoyed, surfing the net for nearly an hour before his response finally came.

‘I‘m a busy man.’

That felt like a slap. Familiar in the concise precision of the blow that could seem an offhand remark. He wasn't this carefree, this wasn't unintentionally cruel blunder. Before she settled enough to write her reply, another chime rung through the silence in the cottage. 

‘I don't want you to lean on me too much. I might not be there when you feel like you need me one day. Let's give each other some breathing room.’

‘You sound like either of us is smothering the other with attention. You can't just withdraw like that without a reason, and expect me to be chill about it, Tony. If you feel like cutting me off, so be it, but I thought we shared quite a lot over the years. Enough to get to know each other. ‘

‘You're right. The thing is, I am attached to you a bit more than I would like to be.’

Helena smiled sadly. She figured out long ago he would never show up to let them try anything in person. Not even a talk. She made her peace with that. Platonic near romance was fine. Safe. She had her occasional flings and nightly fantasies to keep her company. She had her memories.  

‘I will never ask something you would not give. Just don't leave me hanging not sure if it was because of something I said, or did. I miss our talks.

‘Yeah, me too. You have no idea. I’m surrounded by blundering, blind idiots’

‘I might have an inkling. My last ingénue was so thick I might lay off dating for some time. I crave some intellectual stimulation.’

‘How is it you’re going for the dumb ones? I was under the impression you prize intellect.’

Helena snorted a short laugh. Brains were fine and dandy, but once in a while there had to be a nice hot body to release the tension. So she had her boyfriends handsome, buffed and dumb. Because little voice at the back of her mind was shouting warnings that one time she hooked up with an ex-FSK guy. He was too like Bane. Too serious, too intelligent, too capable. Too damaged.

It was no use, since she still thought about the mercenary nearly daily.

Outside, a seagull screeched its complaint over the wind, bringing Helena back to her conversation with Dorrance. Right, a reply. She settled for one she knew he’d like. Concise. 

‘Kalos kagathos.’

‘It seems you’re focusing solely on the “kalos” part…’

‘Easier to see. And they are always nice. I guess it’s the one trait that actually makes it worse for me.’

‘What do you mean? Isn’t it favourable, when the partner is nice?’

‘As I live over thirty years now, I had plenty of time to grow more aware that, well, I seem to like the type of men that are not “nice”. Look at you. I like you, and you never even told me anything meaningful about your life. I’m renting a house from you and I have no idea how you look. Or what your voice sounds like. I only know what you do, and that you contact me only when it’s convenient for you. Basically, you’re being a dick. And I don’t mind. Not much, at least.’ 

‘I’ll admit that you’re on my mind more than just sometimes.’

‘Oh, in what capacity?’ she teased, grinning. Always he evaded with some pleasant turn, but she enjoyed the play, tugging back and forth the boundary of their so far truly platonic relationship.

‘I’m ashamed to admit.’

‘Tease.’

She smiled under her nose.

‘I read yesterday about a project in your field. That’s how desperate I was for some stimulation, you see! I know everything about DESI now.’

Bouncing happily on the couch she sipped cold tea. Last time she felt this eager was… She forcibly stopped herself from wallowing in the memory. She felt happy now, all that mattered. No point going back for a hundredth time to days that were long gone. Look to the future, she told herself.

‘Everything, you say? How will it work?’

‘Okay, you got me, I can't explain that. But I did learn there is a difference between “bayronic” and “baryonic”, and that I still have absolutely no idea what is the distinction between dark energy and dark flow.’

‘I imagine adding dark fluid to the mixture wouldn’t help, right?’

‘I can’t even… Why can’t you physicists find more creative ways to name things? If you don’t know the nature of something it has to be “dark”? That’s racist, you know.’

‘It all stems from being obscure. As in unknown. You do realize scientific community is the most diverse and egalitarian in the world, right?’

‘I do, I do. I was always an avid follower of Aristotle, especially his belief that democracy is a perverted form of polity. If we had more enlightened people in the society, everyone would benefit. And projects like DESI could be completed faster, if we wouldn’t spend so much money on wars.’

‘But war is ingrained in human nature, don’t you think? Even scientists argue over their ideas. Not always calmly.’

‘True. One could understand Plato and his view in “The Republic” - to hire mercenaries, uneducated people looking for a way to vent their aggression, so that eventually they would kill each other off, leaving only peaceful scientists behind. But then, if you say even your fellow brainiacs can be too competitive, I guess the answer might lay in educating everyone so that we could have more of minor disputes, instead of fewer but bigger ones. Also, more scientists equals more research, so more opportunities to verify theories, right?’

‘You’re insufferable optimist about human nature.’

‘Well, it seems only natural to assume that people raised with equality and order in mind would adhere to that ideals in their lives. Add a dose of healthy scepticism, and you have an ideal society. Trusting, but vigilant.’

‘True Utopia.’

‘No one ever really tried to bring it to life. When movies about space cost more than sending an actual rocket on the orbit of Earth, something is wrong. When kids in high school are able to make a drug for which pharmaceutical company charges hundreds, something is wrong. Wouldn’t you agree?’

‘How could I not? Then again, how would you shake society into realizing its failings? It seems like there needs to be a reckoning for people to realize what they are giving up now out of their laziness.’

Helena scoffed. It was like a mirror image of the talk she shared with Bane, a deja vu. She thought she won that argument. 

‘I actually had this same discussion once, few years back. Guess with who. I feel about it the same now, as I did then: you have to educate people to change them over generations, to show them how they can shape the world to be better. Forcing anyone won’t bring any good.’ 

‘You’re frustrated with me over your ex’s ideas. At least it feels as if you're projecting him onto me. I don't mind. He seems like an interesting guy. I still think there has to be a catalyst for catharsis.’

‘Maybe I am. I can't forget about him. It's like everything I do has a shadow of memory attached. Even though we weren't that close or long together. He would say exactly the same things you just did. I’m sure you’d be great friends. His idea of a catalyst however was rather gruesome. I'd like to see you try finding grounds for a compromise on that. That would be the day.

Tears welled up in her eyes. That was fucking true, and she knew it. Shaky breath she drew did nothing to calm her. She couldn't chase an image of Bane, faceless Dorrance and herself, sitting around a table, discussing philosophy. 

Wiping tears from her cheeks she blinked rapidly and tried to focus on the screen again.

‘What you mean you weren't that close?’

Always reliable. Tony knew exactly when to ask about some irrelevant detail, veering off the subject enough to steady her nerves without seeming disinterested. 

‘We had very carnal relationship that stemmed from friendly talks. Imagine that. But there wasn't enough time to really get to know each other well. I still have no idea what exactly he does. I have my theory, but not certainty. I don't know a thing about his family or his past.‘ Well, at least not from the man in question. 

‘And still he has influence over you.’

Eyes closed, Helena exhaled heavily. 

Too true. Bane did hold her hostage still. She didn’t know she ever really would escape his memory. She still wasn’t sure she wanted to. ****  
  


* * *

* * *

Venom was wearing off so fast it impeded Banes daily routine. He ate in a hurry, mostly gulped down protein shakes and fluids. Time for hygiene was rationed to the barest minimum. Brushing teeth was obsolete anyway, when death loomed mere weeks away.

His cot was narrow and barely comfortable. It felt immense at times like these, when he turned to his side, the memory of another small bed and body warmed with sleep persistent behind his eyelids.

The image was both painfully vivid and too fleeting. Fragrance so sweet and delicate, still intense enough to penetrate tubing of his mask, surrounded him with warmth, like blankets warmed up with body heat. Softness of sheets rivalled luxurious feel of supple skin under his fingers. Hair cushioned his head, fine as cobwebs on the wind. Bane remembered noting how the bed was too small. His cot now was even narrower, but it felt way too vast.

There was not a shred of sweetness in sight. Air in sewers was neutrally damp at best. He managed worse quarters, but that was a lifetime ago, before he had more to keep his mind occupied than idle dreams. Now he had memories, and possibilities, and he tortured himself, exquisitely and deliberately, with what he’d never have. He still wanted.

In his heart he remained greedy. 

His joints ached, an unpleasantness echoing with pops and scratching of cartilage, that drugs couldn’t mask for some time now. 

He sat up with a tired sigh. Venom was burning him up from inside, so he stayed bare chested, resting with right arm leaning on one of many crates littering his quarters. Everything tucked away, hidden, accounted for. Waiting to be shipped somewhere safe. 

His joints could have stopped aching with increased dosage of the drug, but noxious vapour was making him numb to most physical stimuli. Too dangerous, so he chose suffering through. Lonely bed was another reminder how he sacrificed himself for revenge that wasn't his own.

Anger roared in his mind, another side effect too strong to ignore. 

In an attempt to invoke peacefulness he felt once his eyes closed in meditation. Steady breaths counted passing time with regularity of a metronome. Stubbornly, his raging mind wouldn't clear. It supplied pictures of a quiet afternoon, the feeling of tranquillity brought by sharing space, thoughts, life. Equilibrium. He led now less than balanced existence. It was a fact easy to ignore, before he tasted the alternative. He dreamt of rainy days spent strolling around unfamiliar campuses, evenings filled with muted conversations. ****  
  


* * *

* * *

Agents observed her expectantly. Helena fought to keep her lips from scowling.

"It has been almost ten years. What do you think I can tell you now that I didn't already say before?"

She could recite tomes of details for them. She never did. Never acknowledged all those hours she spent quite willingly, on conversations. Just being in the same room, reading or writing. Sharing bed.

She never would have told them a word about it.

"Ma'am, people of Gotham are held hostage by this terrorist. We need every shred of leverage we can get."

"Am I a leverage?" she laughed bitterly.

"I don't know, are you?" The agent measured her critically. "You're the only one we know of that escaped him and didn't die."

"That you know of, yes. There are people he pays off, or blackmails, and only I was his hostage for more than few weeks. I know. I don't want to get back to it, ever." Lie. She gulped. "At any rate, do you think he is the same man he was ten years ago? I don't think so."

"Why is that?"

She knew the agent was baiting her. But there were information she still could give without parting with her most shameful memories. The most treasured ones.

"He was never feverish, like he seems now. Something happened to him that must have unhinged him somehow."

Something must have happened...

A blow, pain, laugh. Anguish in his eyes.

"But then, I only saw him in glimpses. He is intelligent enough to show you only what he wants you to see. Especially, since he has the upper hand and control over what is being seen."

The agent smiled weakly. Probably everyone who ever met or researched Bane said exactly that.

"Thank you Mrs Wolf. We will be in touch."

"Of course."

The woman nodded at her partner, headed to the door. Any minute, she will turn and throw another bait, Helena thought. With her hand on the door handle, the agent did turn with a final question.

"Is this home your property, Mrs Wolf?"

She did not expect that.

"No, I rent from one of my long term clients."

"Oh yes?"

Helena cocked her head to the side. There was information she was missing.

"I hope they're not in Gotham," said the agent.

"I hope so as well. Why would you say that though?"

"Mrs Wolf." The male agent started. "We have reason to believe doctor Dorrance is one of Bane’s hostages."

She was shocked to hear that.

A moment later, she was appalled at the implication.

"How dare you." She hissed. "Get out!"

"Mrs Wolf, there are people who suffer every day because we can't touch Bane."

"Out. Now."

"We know there are things you never told us about."

She stood, impotent rage clenching her jaw in an iron grip.

"We know about the baby."

She smiled. It wasn't a pretty sight.

"You know nothing. You suspect and suppose. Get out."

She watched them go down the path until their silhouettes disappeared behind shrubs. 

The television was still blaring news, a constant supply of every little tweet and video that managed to get out of Gotham before Bane’s speech at the stadium.

She still couldn’t believe it was real.

Back in July she was shocked with an attack on Gotham Stock Exchange. The description and footage of assailants, and their leader, didn’t leave any doubt in her mind. She would recognize him anywhere. 

But it was nothing compared to what happened yesterday.

Was this the thing they talked about once? Means to shake the people awake? To bring society out of comfortable lethargy, into an era of order? He did say that citizens of Gotham would take control of the city.

She doubted that.

Yet, it seemed like a grotesque social experiment. A city full of people forced to cooperate. Helena suspected they wouldn't stay organized. Not for long, if at all, seeing how most of the police was trapped.

Shrill of an insistent tune heralded breaking news.

The announcer narrated briefly over what happened so far, reminded viewers about Bane’s promise to Gothamites. 

Tomorrow you claim what is rightfully yours, he had told them. 

Shaky footage popped on screen, large red ‘live' blinking in top right corner.

Futuristic military vehicles rolled before what was labelled Gotham’s Blackgate Prison. Bane emerged from one of them, stood on top of it. A tall, imposing figure in ominous leather coat. He looked foreign, immersed in his element. She could still see him as he were back in Armenia, resting relaxed on a chair, reading printouts. Leaning on the wall, watching her work. Calm and collected, even when she ran away, and he carried her to the cell.

Then she remembered the day he broke her leg. An afternoon when he forced himself on her. The blows he took at her. No, he wasn’t a lamb, and she knew that perfectly well. She liked it. She relished the struggle between good and bad, the constant tug o'war between the scientist and the mercenary.

Looks like the latter won.

Dread filled her as she listened to his speech, mocking, cruel words dripping with contempt.

Gotham is yours. None shall interfere. Do as you please.

His voice was pitched higher than she remembered, zealous and feverish. 

After his final sentence the footage stopped. For a few seconds the screen was blank, but shortly the anchor resumed his commentary. 

She tuned out.

There was a reason for his actions. There always was. Even if she couldn’t understand his motivations, there was always logical explanation to them. There was always a goal to be obtained.

What was his goal in Gotham? Liberating the city was just a pretense.

A knock startled her so much she nearly jumped. Someone was at the door. Cautiously she walked over, praying it won’t be another government agency trying to get her to talk about Bane.

It was her neighbour.

“Hi Grace, come on in,” she welcomed with a forced smile.

“You’ve seen the news,” Grace noticed, visibly shaky.

“Hard not to. Do you have any family in Gotham?”

“Few friends. Oh my god, I can't believe that madman!”

Helena nodded. That's what he was to most people.

“I’m sorry, I’m still shaken after that latest broadcast. Graham is on the phone with Dorrance's solicitor, asking if we can prolong our lease. We don’t want to go back to States at this time,” Grace explained.

“Sure, that’s understandable.”

“The problem is, Dorrance has to give his permission. And Mr Cooke says he didn’t have any news from him since end of August!”

“I haven’t heard from him since July, I think,” Helena said.  

Grace shook her head.

“Well, if he won’t surface before end of this month you will be here alone.” She smiled weakly. “We will be looking for a cottage nearby, so you can still drop by for dinner sometime.”

“I’d love that,” Helena smiled. 

“I better go,” Grace said, looking over to the television screen. She frowned. “You don’t suppose he could be in Gotham, do you?”

Sharp gasp escaped Helena, when she realized.

“I sent his last commission there. But it was back in May!” She shook her head in denial. “He moves around so much, he probably is somewhere in Patagonia, without internet, or Antarctica. Mongolia maybe, or Namibia,” she finished weakly. Her voice swelled with emotions she tried to keep at bay for too long.

What if he wasn't?

Grace hugged her, pity written on her kind, wrinkled face. It was too much. Helena couldn’t hold back desperate sobs. Hiding everything, living in the past, forever suspended between two people who were out of reach, was too much to handle.

What if they both were in Gotham, and they both die? What would she do?

 

* * *

* * *

Crumbling city was unravelling before his eyes. The new order let the masses act on their desires. Even curfew, brutally held up by his troops, even Crane’s court, the madness that it was, none of that thwarted the drive to devour. So he watched the meek and the humble, rounding up the bold and beautiful for judgement. Listened to the screams, shouts and singing of their parties. In rare instances when the mask was off he could catch an unmistakable waft of burning flesh on the smoky air that coursed through the city.

Gotham was decaying.

At times it felt almost peaceful. Night, the coldest hour just before dawn, saw darkened streets empty like corridors of an abandoned house. Occasionally snow would fall and brighten the landscape. He made a habit of surveying the rooftops then, revelling in the blackish blue sky stretching above him. Decreased light pollution awarded inhabitants of this side of the bay with good view of Leonids meteor shower, even though the moon's bright shine threatened to overpower wispy trails of falling stars.   

But the citizens of Gotham never looked up.

He watched the stars, enduring stiffness in his joints that even Venom could not conceal.

Supermoon next month, third and last this year. Very fitting, he thought.

Would Helena watch?

* * *

* * *

The email went through, and Helena sighed with relief when it didn’t bounce back. She checked her outbox two days earlier and counted over two hundred messages sent to Dorrance. More than two per every day of the siege.

Not even one was answered.

He did fall silent for long periods of time before, but never more than three months without a word. The talk with CIA people fucked with her head. What if he really was in Gotham? Would he even be alive? What resources and abilities could he have to help him endure the occupation?

Her eyes switched to the TV screen. Footage of Bane speaking on the stadium and before Blackgate Prison was playing almost non-stop. She knew by heart every little detail, every minute gesture and the smallest change in his expression. She watched anyway.

She wondered often how was it possible for Bane to concoct a plan so faulty, a single individual could bring it to a fail. A triggerman. Preposterous. She saw the inconsistencies so blatant even her untrained eyes were able to notice them. This was so unlike him, this sloppiness. Something felt wrong in his feverish words, nonchalant way he conducted kills and terrorized the civilians. Person valuing civility and order turned into a brute hanging corpses on display.

Maybe he wanted to portray that image so that he could be even more unpredictable. But then, would any information she had help the situation in any way? Clearly, he wasn’t the same person she thought she knew. Clearly, any description she might give of his body, scars, or face, was obsolete. Everyone in the world knew exactly where he was and roughly, how he looked. What would be the point now in admitting she’d been lying all those years?

And for what? Pinning for an image, a memory of a man that never was. Bane as a civilian was impossible, now more than ever. What would he do? Even if he’d somehow escape Gotham, finding him would be only a matter of time..

Time was the most precious commodity now.

Invariably, her thoughts shifted to Dorrance. Even after years, she still thought of him this way. Just his surname. The wall between them was there because he wanted to keep his distance from the very beginning. So she put up fences of her own too, to prevent herself from engaging too much. Just friends. Amiable chats were all they shared, apart from regular commissions. Their friendship didn’t fray with time held solely by glue of sheer will. Maybe the house helped a bit too. It wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy anyone’s craving for human contact yet giving him up was unthinkable. 

She knew it was holding her back from entering any new relationship fully. Then again, so did memory of Bane. His image rather, Helena corrected herself. What she remembered wasn’t real, after all. Couldn’t be real. How could it be, if she read daily about atrocities happening in Gotham? Would a man who enjoyed fine art condemn innocent people to barbarity?

Wood of the headboard whined under her weight when she slumped against it, closing the laptop.

Of course it was possible. Nazis did it. Modern tyrants in Muslim countries, too. Ancient emperors. She could compile long list of names from the top of her head just to support that one argument.

Maybe they would blow up Gotham anyway, so Bane saw each death that was fast as a merciful way out of the madness and suffering? What did it mean, for Gothamites to take control of their city anyway? He had them all under his paw. Control freak.

CIA told her about his past, mentioned growing up incarcerated. Like an animal. It helped her understand why he loved books so much. It explained his mild reactions toward her escapes. It showed in the way his eyes were circled by dark shadows, haunted in what little footage there was from Gotham. Like he was held imprisoned again, only this time pit in the ground was exchanged for an island full of desperate people. Privileged position on top of the food chain did not change the fact that he couldn't escape.

Or could he?

But where would he go, how would he hide, in a world that would be rife with people seeking revenge?

What was his end goal? ****  
  


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All the effort, resources, manpower, work hours. Wasted. Spilled carelessly like fistful of sand on gentle evening breeze. Sacrificed for one woman’s revenge, to better the world by bringing a vigilante billionaire to his knees and killing millions of people. 

Bane marvelled over stupidity of it all.

If everything they did was funnelled instead to more academic pursuits, he could already have his very own satellite. Maybe more than that. He could raise an army of engineers, pioneers and researchers, instead of vainly trying to satisfy insane ravings of one broken individual. 

All for nothing now.

He really was delusional.

As he laid there, back plastered to concrete wall, buying time for Talia, the only thing going through Bane’s mind was astonishment.

Over how ridiculous the man in the bat mask was.

Over painfully unnecessary theatricality that followed Wayne's downfall.

Over stupidity of the plan that would rather kill them all out in the open for the world to see, than act out the revenge swiftly and severely while they still had the advantage of hiding in the shadows.

Agony crippled him, leached away his will to act. For a minute he fought over it, frantically pulling blow, after blow, trying to win a fight he lost before it even started. Bane never escaped, so what chance did he have with a man who managed that even while he was broken and bereft of the purpose of his life? Even now, he couldn’t repair on his own the damage that was dealt, relying instead on Talia’s kindness.

His darling little girl.

Talia droned on, told Wayne all about their history. Ancient memories brought tears to his eyes, and he let them fall down his cheeks, unashamed. He loved her so much. He would give anything for her to be happy. He surrendered so many dreams. Gave her his body and his mind.

Now she was relishing twisting the knife in gut of a man who killed her father, but he still saw the emptiness behind her actions. There was nothing that could bring her satisfaction, because she scorched all tender feelings long time ago. 

Finally it all made sense. Dr Isley altering Venom. Killing Porter.

She was making Bane find an alternative for himself. And he stubbornly stayed by her side, like a dog beaten by its owner, but licking the hands that brought him suffering.

Bane realized she was really doing it for him. She was setting him free.

She couldn’t bear to be the way she was in the world they lived in, but he still had hope stubbornly blooming inside his chest. 

Was that the thing Talia envied?

Automatically, he corded the rope around Batman's neck during Talia’s monologue. Pointless now anyway, but he wanted her to have the satisfaction of acting out her part, her fantasy, the role she herself wrote for those last minutes. When she finishes, they all end up in a ball of flames, he reminded himself.

Helena.

Would she be watching?

What would she think after dust from the explosion settles?

Click.

Nothing.

He still had time. He had someone to go to.

Without second thoughts his little girl left, to make sure the city would be obliterated, all of them with it. But he had a plan. A plan for himself and for Talia. He had prepared for the madness, arranged everything so that he could trick her into hiding from the blast. Shove her by force to the bunker, if need be.

She knew. It was the job of a Demon Head to know. 

She went with Barsad without as much as a glance back. Just like she escaped the Pit, all those years ago. She chose for herself. 

It was time he chose his path too. Finally free from weight of obligations and expectations.

All that was left for Bane to do was disposing of the Batman. His last act of loyalty towards Talia. He knew her last words were a decoy, calculated to cut Wayne with the prospect of his city dying for sins of its Dark Knight.

“We both know I have to kill you now,” he said to stunned Wayne, kicking him down. His heart swelled with hope. Shotgun was pleasantly heavy in his outstretched hand. He just had to pull the trigger. Then he would descend to the bunker. And live on. “You just have to imagine the fire!”

But it was Bane who was consumed by the flames in the end.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I am truly grateful for every review, anonymous and signed.


	20. Grieving a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue really, more than an actual chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was one hell of a ride. As I've mentioned in the beginning this story was a personal challenge. I conceived it in the first days of July 2016, while bored at work, and it grew on me through the months. All the while I was aware this exact day will be the day it would end. Ides of March, 2017. My initial goal of writing 90k words was met perfectly, with exactly 91901 words. Thats a whole damn book!
> 
> My love and gratefulness to ThreeDots, a catalyst to many fantastic ideas, tireless researcher, eager proofreader and above all a friend. Busy Bee, you are truly awesome.
> 
> Thanks once again to everyone who commented, left kudos or just took the time to read what we have here. My heart soars with every change in viewcount, every single notification. It matters, to see how you react, and you did so beautifully. It was much more than I ever imagined I'll get. 
> 
> Thank you.
> 
> Now, on with the show.

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Cold water kissed foam-ridden sand, as the sea charged rhythmically to the coastline and back. Gaining a little with every minute over dry land. Helena buried her toes deeper into the damp, chilly ground, rubbing arms around her middle. Soon it will be time to go back, but not just yet. The icy breeze and magnificent view soothed her nerves, helped to calm the tempest she couldn’t reign over for almost a decade.

It became worse at the end of last year when Bane surfaced in Gotham, seizing the city, holding it hostage. Shaky footage from the stadium shocked her, throwing her mind right back to the time she spent in the Armenian monastery. He looked almost the same, his eyes still young. But perhaps more fervent and haunted than before, if shadows underneath were any indication. Along him she found some familiar faces. 

Every day after initial attack, then few hours every evening during the siege, she feasted her eyes on him. Invariably her heart fluttered while she tried to convince herself that now more than ever she should be glad to have escaped his clutches. Glad to be alive and well far, very far away from him.

She wasn't happy.

Her life was comfortable. She was content with her work. Liked living at the cottage, tucked away between rocks and sea, simple and isolated. She enjoyed her neighbours, coincidentally close enough to allow her sound sleep, but well separated so they didn’t bother each other unnecessarily. She was cozy, ate healthy, had plans for next weeks and months. Few friends visited from time to time.

Everything felt hollow.

Her work, photographed and carefully edited, brought her flurry of commissions, so much she had to decline most of them. 

Still, she found herself wanting.

Epiphany came soon after she moved to the cottage. Lying awake at night, watching the stars with a very nice guy holding her close she realized tomorrow she would want him gone. Because his shoulders weren’t broad enough, his eyes didn’t crinkle in the corners the right way when amused, his words didn’t pierce her to the core dissecting her beliefs until only true essence was left behind.

She missed Bane.

It wasn’t difficult to bury that information, much more complicated to forget once it surfaced. Helena prided herself on staying realistic both to what happened and how she felt about it. But facing hope resurfacing month after month, year after year… Maybe he would leave his life, why not? Maybe he would just come by once, just to talk? Maybe one e-mail, one letter, one call…

Facing her own irrational wants was exhausting. She knew the only emotion he should have left for her was hate. If he came it would be to grab her by the neck and not let go until her body went limp.

And yet, she longed to see him. Even on a screen.

When she got her wish it was in the most twisted way, one she could never predict. Gotham. Ever since the very first days of occupation in September she felt mounting sense of dread. Her chest was constantly crushed with fear. Irrational, since there was absolutely nothing she could do. But it was there, her concern for Bane visible in very expression she made while watching the same footage over and over, and over again. Observing the situation she reaffirmed herself in her initial conclusion - no matter what befallen Gotham Bane would be dead. 

Then the realization that Dorrance was probably there too added to her misery fear over his safety. Uncertainty gnawed away at her sleep, compelling her to keep watching the same scenes, keep refreshing inbox in hopes of a message that never came.

Thinking not even an ounce of hope left in her heart she was crushed when news agencies reported Gotham saved. The bomb exploded over the bay. The internet blew up with it, rejoicing the end of terror, commemorating fallen hero of the people, viciously making fun of slaughtered mercenaries. 

As the news of Bane’s death hit, Helena was numb. He died in battle, how fitting, was all she could think of over ringing in her ears. 

It was then she took to going to the beach every day, regardless of weather. She wept through first few days, but now she mostly stared at the sea, reminiscing on what was and what never came to be.

Dorrance stayed silent, so she assumed he was dead too.

Newscasts mourned the dead for a week and then promptly turned to newest problems. Incapacitated USA, unreliable ONZ, crumbling NATO, turmoil in the Netherlands and Turkey. No one cared about Gotham or people that died in it, no more than those from Iraq, Afghanistan, Fukushima, Syria, Ukraine… Life went on. Relentlessly. 

She shuddered, realizing it was nearly half an hour since she plopped down on the cool sand. Even in direct sunlight it was chilly, Spring started showing only recently. Less than a week until the equinox, she realized.

Sluggishly getting up, she looked at the ground as her feet carried her automatically. Step by step, back to the cottage. There was some soup on the stove, she could pour herself a cup and sit by the fireplace. Maybe her hands would finally settle today enough so that she could go back to writing. She was chilled to the bone.

Sandy trail from the beach turned into tarmac. Helena crossed the road, found her way along winding wooden and stone pathway to the cottage. Neck stiff with cold she kept bent, no longer bothering looking up.

Unfamiliar sound caught her attention. 

There was a note stuck to the door. Soft breeze played with corners of the sheet, but it was tightly secured on four sides with duct tape.

‘If convenient, come visit at the big house. Moving in today.   
A. Dorrance’

Helena stared at the paper for a solid minute. 

The hand was familiar, concise and elegant, but she expected as much from a scholar. Note was written on some kind of printout, seemingly random letters littering cells of a chart highlighted in different colours were visible on the back. 

Gingerly, she reached her palm to take it down, but stilled her hand midair. 

Should she change? Maybe put some makeup on?

Fuck it.

Hurrying back the path she jogged up the little hill, panting slightly when she reached larger cabin. It was turned towards the sea, the exterior on three sides built up like a wooden fortress, so she couldn't peek inside. To compensate, the entire front was covered floor to ceiling with windows, shielded from too much sun and rain by extended roof leaning on thick wooden beams.

The door was left open so she let herself in, stilling expectantly just inside. The layout of the cabin was familiar to her like her own home, but he didn’t have to approve of her intruding too boldly. 

“Hello?” she tentatively called out.

No answer.

She was in the living room, massive fireplace to her left, twin sofas and a coffee table in front. Opposite wall was covered in rows of books. Crates and boxes littered most of the space on the floor, leaving narrow paths to move through the debris. She saw her own manuscripts put aside in a neat stack, and made to inspect them closer.

“Tony, it’s me, Helena. I’m going to look up the books! Come out when you're ready.”

She couldn’t stop grinning.

Maybe he was nervous, and bid his time out of her view, unsure of what she thought of him? Possibly antsy about the way he looked, since she never caught the slightest glimpse of him in the pictures he sent. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the fact that he was finally - here.

Her hands shook with anticipation, as she smoothed them over familiar planes of leather. The colours were as vibrant as the moment they left her nib, lines crisp and clear. It was an odd pleasure, seeing her work again after years. Like meeting an old friend. Humble, but elegant, timeless in the way all sophisticated things are. No grandeur, no unnecessary opulence. Still, the wisdom immortalized on the pages was adorned with careful consideration of the contents. She always loved the work Dorrance gave her.

Tome at the very bottom caught her eye. 

The manuscript she made back in Armenia.

Hands fisted at her sides to manage violent tremors that shook her body, and she took a long calming breath. How was it even here?

It wasn’t impossible for Dorrance to have it, she reasoned. He must have bought that book from someone… Which meant Bane sold the one thing he told her was his most prized possession. Lying wouldn't be his worst action towards her, but she felt very sharp and very real pain in her chest at the thought. The connection she felt towards the mercenary still held strong after all those years. Betrayal spilled in her gut along with hot wave of nausea. To think she kept waiting, for years no less, for the impossible. 

“Good afternoon, Helena.”

Breath caught in her throat, when she extended weakened hand to reflexively cover her mouth. 

That sound.

Even if she couldn’t see him, even without the metallic filter, she would recognize this voice anywhere. Unmistakable lilt, perfect elocution, always slightly taunting finish…

Bane’s voice.

She turned, back stiff with shock.

There he was, standing with hands nonchalantly put in pockets, leaning with one arm on the fireplace. Slimmer, maskless, graying thatch of dirty blonde hair on his head, dressed in goddamn suit pants and white shirt with rolled up sleeves. Scars visible on nearly every centimetre of his exposed skin. Fresh ones on his forearms. Burns peeking from behind unbuttoned collar. Myriad of lines on his face; those she saw only once and nearly forgot how they flowed crisscrossed with wrinkles she never had a chance to see develop.   

Entranced, she grinned and hurried to him on wobbly legs, first reaction a reflection of her most honest desire. But she hesitated at the last moment. 

He waited for her move, observing with a slight smirk on marred lips and warm gleam in his eyes. 

Despite her better judgement, and the voice of reason feebly trying to break through haze of surprise, Helena cradled his face in her palms, as he took the step she hesitated to make, to bring them closer. 

“You’re alive.” The euphoria of the discovery seeped out of her every pore, added breathless tremor to her whisper.

He bowed down, touched his forehead to hers. Like a man dizzy with first gulp of fresh air after drowning, he inhaled a long, steadying breath.

“How are you alive?” she murmured, gingerly caressing every part of him she could reach. Her eyes never left his face, staring in wonder, still not really believing he was here. 

Then, that little stubborn voice finally increased enough to bring another question to her mind.

“Where is Dorrance?” she asked, worried with the memory of a man, her friend, she came here hoping to see.

Bane held her close, not letting her shift away even when anxiety twisted her happy smile into an apprehensive thin line.

“Helena,” he started, a placating tone doing nothing to calm her.

“Bane, what did you do to him?” she pressed on, insistent palms pressing on his shoulders. He was ruthless in Gotham. Her overworked imagination instantly supplied a picture of Bane effortlessly wringing neck of one scientist. Shirt under her palms wrinkled into ugly creases with the force of her nervous grip.

“Forgive me Helena, but we haven’t got a chance at proper introduction,” Bane smiled down at her unperturbed. Surprisingly boyish, honest grin, one that made corners of his eyes crinkle in the way she loved and missed so much.

“My name is Anthony Dorrance.”

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that one was pretty obvious, wasn’t it? ;)  
> So, how did you like the ending? I'm a helpless romantic, so you got HEA as requested, but with a little twist.  
> Again, thank you for tagging along for the ride that was this story. I enjoyed it immensely.  
> It was so much fun to write Bane and shape Helena! For two weeks now I still try to process it's over, and can't really believe it. (Well, I do have some drabbles to post, sometime later. Maybe. Some smut. Some fluff. Some ass kicking. But don't tell anyone)  
> Comment below what would you like to see/have explained.  
> Really, do comment. Even if you didn't like it. Especially if you didn't. Even if you don't know what to write, and leave only "<3". Feedback gives every writer rush to work and create. I will write for my own amusement anyway, but since I discovered I'm an attention whore, come on. Make my day. Comment. ;) Even a week, month, year after today. Every little bit counts.  
> If you want to discuss anything, I'm on Twitter at ilovehighhats.
> 
> Thank you!


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